Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers
by the-lionness
Summary: As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG other pairings Rating: M for lemons
1. Chapter 1

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

___It was the most intense pain she had ever felt in her life._

___And she was scared about how quickly she accepted that truth._

___In spite of the bruises and scratches she had all over her arms and legs, it was the memory of the bite put on her neck long ago that affected her, that made her heart clench with worry. And it spurred her to keep going, ignoring the debris that she felt underfoot and her rational side that urged her to find at least one other person to bring with her, to help her._

___She had to find him._

___Somewhere far off, she heard screaming. At least to her ears it was screaming. And that pain she felt, it was stronger. Which was a good thing...for now. Her feet carried her down the stairs through the Great Hall and into the courtyard. "____Lumos____," she whispered and pointed the tip of her wand into the relative darkness._

___And gasped at what she saw._

___There he was sprawled on the ground, the patches of dirt making his uniform as dirty and worn as hers. Terence._

___And standing over him, the one that made her hurt like this._

_"____Blaise?"_

___He was____...__he was____..._

"E-excuse me?" Hermione stared at Profes—___Headmistress_ McGonagall as if she had heard wrong.

"What are Veelas, Miss Granger? I am sure you learned about them from your courses last year, so please, answer the question." The older women went back to her task of putting sugar into her teacup.

She had thought upon receiving the letter urging her to come to Hogwarts early it was for Head business. Not that she wasn't enjoying being back at the school that had become a second home to her right before it was overrun with the other students, but in in her mind, it couldn't have possibly been for anything else.

After all, Voldemort was dead.

It was almost surreal to say, let alone think about. Barely three days after the death of Dumbledore, she, Ron, and Harry had embarked on their mission for the Horocruxes, only keeping in contact with the Order for updates about their effort to track down and overthrow Voldemort. They barely stayed in the same place for longer than three days, only venturing into public places to follow up on the clues they'd gather and theorize about. Finding one was never something to celebrate; it was something that caused restless nights because it had to be destroyed, the sooner the better. And subsequently, that goal and the nature of the fragmented soul all those Horocruxes housed brought great stress, frustration, and pain amongst them. She never wanted to think about the fights she had witnessed between Ron and Harry about what to do and who was right ever again. But in spite of their rules and desire to be careful and unseen, they had been found out upon a rendezvous with members of The Order.

When she thought about the fight, everything after the initial strike from the Death Eaters came to the forefront of her mind with absolute clarity and sharp focus. It was like she had blinked and found herself in an never-ending battle, facing all those Death Eaters, getting close enough to see the color of their pupils through the holes of their masks, barely escaping unscathed. _Alive._ But on the third week, after losses on both sides, Harry and Voldemort finally crossed paths. The fight between them was both awe-inspiring and frightening, the way their wands resonated the way they did hour after hour, everyone else on either side watching and waiting for the end.

But somehow, by some miracle, Harry Potter, her best friend, emerged victorious.

Of course, the ending immediately gave way to its own aftermath, the evacuation of civilians and the injured; the quick ousting of the Death Eaters and reformation of the Ministry; the call for the trials and sentencing for the captured Death Eaters and the search for their comrades...and funerals for the ones they lost. It was a wonder that Harry had agreed to finish his last year at Hogwarts instead of immediately joining up in the effort to track down Death Eater factions. She figured that it was because he was desperate to make things as normal as quickly as possible for himself again, but she never had a moment to really think about it before getting the news that she was indeed Head Girl and that she was to report to Hogwarts for Heads business ASAP.

"...Miss Granger?"

"Yes! Yes...Veelas are...semi-human, semi-magical creatures that are found in the eastern and southern regions of Europe. Eastern Veela are usually classified as being fair; Southern Veela are swarthy, with darker hair and olive complexions. They can channel their own magic into wands, but are most known for their...erotic appeal. While appearing as humans, they have been known to change into a birdlike hybrid when angered or depressed. It is said that the first recordings of Veelas were The Sirens in the Muggle philosopher Homer's ___Odyssey_." Hermione lapsed into silence, hoping that that was enough. Her teeth began biting at her bottom lip.

No such luck. "And their mating habits, Miss Granger?"

"...Upon reaching maturity, a portion of the Veela population, mostly comprised of women, are known to search for and bond with a life-long human mate. Upon uniting with their mate, they are known to be protective and devoted to him or her. Their offspring gain some of their Veela parent's abilities, although to what degree is believed to vary individually. However, if rejected by their mate or if they lose their mate, they are said to go insane, assuming their bird-like appearance permanently, and hiding in shame and mourning until their death." She slowly willed herself to stop blushing, her mark of embarrassment at being forced to show that she had done some extra research about the subject.

McGonagall, however, looked nonplussed at Hermione's knowledge. "Correct. Fifty points to Gryffindor...It seems we've come across the same information at one point," she said absently, her cup clinking against the oak of her tea table as she placed it down.

Her gray eyes looked around her new office, before sighing.

Hermione's brow furrowed at the behavior.

"Miss Granger, I'm surprised you haven't asked about Mr. Zabini's whereabouts."

"N-no, I haven't. I'm sorry." Hermione _had_ been curious, of course, but could think of a million reasons why she hadn't deigned to ask about her co-Head, the most glaring being that she wasn't exactly excited to know that after everything she had been through, she was to be partnered with a Slytherin. The other reasons probably stemmed from the fact that in spite of six previous years of classes with one another, she didn't know enough about him to be curious or concerned about his whereabouts. She knew that he was Italian and had had been in some of her more advanced classes in the past, but he kept mostly to himself.

"Are you two civil to one another?"

"He and I...haven't really spoken to each other before." She couldn't remember a time they had even interacted accidentally. It was believed that he had been signed up to be a Death Eater, his mother (probably) being a supporter herself. However, regardless of rumors or truths, the air of mystery he presented to the rest of Hogwarts and his own physical appeal made Zabini a topic of interest amongst most of the girls in the school. She couldn't remember if "Zabini" and "handsome" or "desirable" had ever crossed ___her _mind, but it seemed like it had amongst many of her peers. Every year, at least a few girls gave themselves over to the thought to the point of signing up for the difficult classes he took every year (only to, of course, drop them after a week or so.

"I see...Then let me be straightforward." McGonagall sighed again suddenly, the sound more like she had been giving up a fight. "Miss Granger, what I am about to say is to be kept completely confidential." She stood and walked around her pristine office with its minimalistic decorations, stopping at the window before turning to her teatime companion.

"Mr. Zabini is a quarter Veela. From what I understand, the lineage comes from his father, who was half-Veela himself. As such, with his eighteenth birthday, he reached maturity and expressed a strong need to find his mate." Gray eyes met brown ones in the pregnant pause and Hermione felt her stomach sink at what she knew was coming next.

"...Mr. Zabini identified ___you _as his mate and almost immediately began to have an adverse affect at not being...with you. His mother brought him to us for help, but as he has begun to wane mentally and we are now unable to rouse him ourselves, we have asked you—Miss Granger, ___please_, if you have something to say, say it. I can imagine that this is not what you were expecting to hear upon entering my office."

The Headmistress' words seemed to be the opening of emotion she needed. "How, how am ___I _his mate? I'm...I'm a Gryffindor! I don't keep company with him at all! I, I've barely spoken...it has to be a, a mistake." Her mind seemed to be a jumbling of voices of her classmates pining for Zabini, her knowledge about Veelas, and the phrase "life-long mate" that kept echoing in her ears. It was like a death sentence.

"...I do not doubt Mr. Zabini's words. A Veela's ability to identify their mate is instinctive and unquestionable. However, I have asked for Madam Pomfrey to be sure for both your sakes. She tells me he says he ___knows_ it's you and I've been told that his words claiming that fact have not faltered." McGonagall walked back to the table and grabbed the seventeen-year-old's hand in comfort. "I know this is strange, but please see this for its potential. The nature of your and Mr. Zabini's relationship embodies the transition the Wizarding World is going to have to make in its move from emphasizing blood purity. In my opinion, your union can be example of the bridging of that gap amongst our students."

Hermione tried her best to not show her favorite professor that in ___her _opinion, the woman was crazy! She and Zabini were supposed to be the poster children of interhouse relations? ___Inter-blood relations?! _Her mind was racing to find a counterargument, but for once, absolutely nothing came to mind. She just sat there, gaping at her professor.

All of a sudden, she felt exhausted. "...I don't know if I can."

"...Mister Zabini is already greatly diminished. Madam Pomfrey, myself, and his mother are worried that if he does not mark you, he may begin to induce his Veela side. A Veela rejected so soon after maturity is very dangerous and self-destructive, Miss Granger. However, if allowed to mark you, not only can his mental state be abated if not reversed, you can get a chance to know each other better..."

And then, all of a sudden, in the next moment, McGonagall was kneeling on the ground, shaking her arm lightly. "...Hermione, ___please_."

She had never heard McGonagall ever...beg for anything before, least of all to her personally. She felt herself succumb before the words even left her mouth.

"...Okay."

And part of her hated herself because of it.

* * *

She was standing outside the door that supposedly led to the Heads Common Room, trapped between her desire to go inside and rest after her travels, and her wish to never walk in there and see her mate...

...And her curiosity at whatever the hell she was supposed to do to "bond" with Zabini. She had stupidly forgotten to ask, instead slowly trying to filter only the most important information McGonagall had to offer and agreeing to be absolutely confidential about the situation, not even telling Harry or Ron. Yet part of her knew it having to do with sex. What else could it be? According to that moment of time when she had felt like she just ___had _to know about Veelas, that Veelas were one of the first things she remembered recognizing before she knew she was a witch, she had learned that they were, "by nature, erotic creatures" after all.

She had already been told that she was essentially married, forever and ever, the end; she wasn't ready to finish a long and tiring day by immediately having sex with a virtual stranger. It made her feel kinda cheap or a Victorian bride from a book she read in between all her other studies in the summer, unable to make a decision for herself. At worse, a kind of...___whore_.

And besides that, she had only kissed two people before. Vicktor Krum in her fourth year, and Ron at one point during their travels when she herself had destroyed a Horocrux and did the first thing she felt expressed the happiness and relief she had felt (and regretted when the euphoria had passed, making for one of the most humiliating and overall horrible and awkward moments of her life to explain later that she hadn't meant it, that it was a mistake, and they were better off as friends). They had been good kisses, she supposed; she couldn't remember if she had enjoyed them exactly or if she was a good kisser or anything, but she wasn't ___terrible_—

"Are you Miss Hermione?" She snapped out of her trance and realized that she had been staring blankly at the common room portrait—rather picture, a scene of men and women at some sort of celebration, dressed immaculately in dress robes, gowns, and tuxedos. One of the women, dressed in a cream-colored dress and black robes, was staring down at her with hazel eyes. Hermione was struck with the idea that the woman was really pretty, her hair and makeup the most tasteful in style at the time.

"Yes. I am...Hello." For some reason, she curtsied.

The woman returned the gesture, not one strand of reddish hair out of place. "It is very lovely to meet you. I am Antoinette and behind me is my party." The rest of the men and women bowed or waved at the young girl and raised their glasses of wine in greeting. "Our painting has been placed here to provide you with any assistance you may need with Mr. Zabini. The Headmistress believes his state will improve now that you are here, but if that should not be the immediate case, we are here to help notify people to assist you."

Hermione wasn't sure she liked that Zabini required so many to look after him. "Will he...hurt me?"

Antoinette's eyes stared at Hermione and her pretty, red-painted mouth curved into a smile. "...No, dear. He hasn't moved or spoken very much, but I believe he would be particularly incapable of hurting you."

"Oh."

"...The password?"

"Oh, um...'Calypso.'"

"Your things have been placed inside your room on the left." Antoinette bowed once more and the door gave way. Hermione stepped in.

It was evening and, of course, summer, but she was greeted with a glow from the fireplace illuminating the space. But in spite of the fire, partially blocked by one of the chairs, her eyes were slow to adjust to the Common Room. Maybe he wasn't in here just now.

She ventured into the room a bit more, uncomfortable with the heat, and felt her knee be greeted by the legs of the coffee table she couldn't see. She hissed the pain she felt in her foot out through her teeth.

"Who's there?" A masculine voice, lilted with an accent that could only be Italian, called out, uncertain about what was going on. "Um...Madam, Madam...Pomfrey?"

She felt a sudden stab of fear. ___Damn._ "N-no. It's...Hermione."

There was some movement from a chair in the corner that had been turned away from the rest of the room, the emergence of a tall male. About six foot to her five-foot-seven frame. Blaise Zabini, Slytherin and Head Boy. "Hermione?" His voice was hoarse. He slowly stepped towards her. "You're here?"

"Um, um, um, yes I am." She stood like a deer facing headlights.

He came closer and in the dim light, she could make out his face and his tongue running across his bottom lip. He seemed to stare at her for a few moments, debating with himself if she was real. She had been expecting a horrible monster or something, but he was so...___handsome_.

...She wanted to question her mind's use of that word, but she didn't.

"I'm glad."

She wasn't aware that the words "I'm glad" could make her feel weird, but all of a sudden, she felt herself being hit by something...an internal...___warmth_, one that had begun to spread quickly over her body. She looked over at him. It had to be him; he had to be the one that was doing this to her somehow. His skin was olive and it shone in the firelight, his cheekbones high, nose straight and aristocratic, lips full, and body, not only tall, but lean and toned. She saw it all and then she only saw his eyes, ethereal blue and framed with the chunks of his black hair. It was like she was drawn to them and even though she felt she ___knew_ it was a Veela effect, she couldn't pull away from them. She could swim in them...___drown_ in them and stay there forever.

The warmth she felt seemed to have reached every inch of her and now had nowhere to go except...her lower stomach.

She ___really _hadn't been feeling like this before she had walked in. Was he ___already_ trying to mark her?

...Was she ___really_ upset about it?

...No...

...in fact, she couldn't remember why she had been so against this before...

He was close enough to reach out and touch her, his hand sliding up her arm and shoulder to caress the curve of her cheek with his thumb. She seemed to realize, as he licked his lips again, she was biting hers, nervous again. His other hand seemed to have already buried itself in her curls. "I'm glad," he repeated his voice still somewhat weak but also husky, staring at her with those bottomless, beautiful eyes of his.

The warmth buzzed in her head and she felt his power wash over her again and again, each wave stronger than the last. She let her senses be assaulted by whatever Veela power he had unleashed on her. He lightly ran a finger over the skin behind her ear and she sighed and tingled, nearing him until there were only inches between them.

And she felt herself...___give_ ___in_.

Her hands reached up to cradle his face before she had had given herself time to think about it. Some part of her seemed to want to make him know that she was...opening to him, but couldn't do what he was doing. So she spoke.

"I am...too."

If he had been restraining himself, it had given way at that moment. His lips pressed unto hers and her nose filled with his scent, his unique spice and musk. Masculine. Strong. She stood there for a moment as his mouth dominated hers, licking and gently pulling at her bottom lip; goose pimples prickled all over her body. And then she reacted herself, mouth mimicking his movements, her arms sliding and draping around him, her hands on his back, trying to bring his hard body closer to hers. Her breathing sounded heavy to her own ears as he began to kiss her neck and his hands gripped her waist.

Hermione didn't know he was moving them to the couch until she felt her feet leave the ground. He settled the two of them unto the cushions with him sitting down and her straddling his waist. Her cloths, the red polka-dot dress, hiked up her thighs. A whimper escaped her mouth as he pulled away, but her disappointment disappeared the moment he took off his shirt. His skin was starting to glisten with sweat, and his body, flawless, muscular, was firm under her hands. One look into his eyes and she felt that the clothing she wore was too much at that very moment.

He brought her lips to his and kissed her once more, this time, his tongue finding an opening and plunging in. His hands brought themselves to her hips, hiking up her dress just a bit higher. She tried to bring herself even closer, only to feel her crotch rub across something...___hard_...

It felt...amazing. ___Too amazing._

Zabini—no no no, ___Blaise_—murmured something she couldn't understand and pulled away to stare at her, his eyes closing in bliss when she did it again. She did it a third time before he began to move much in the same way, grinding himself against her core, meeting her motion for motion. For a moment, that's all they did, his clothing rubbing against the fabric of her panties and his hands opening the front of her dress. His thumbs kneaded her breasts through her bra, rubbing the mounds of flesh until her nipples poked through the cotton. Her back arched at the touch.

She moaned and gasped; he groaned and exhaled sharply; the need for that friction made their hips meet again and again.

She was reaching the edge. She wanted him...she wanted him so badly...to...to... "Blaise...Blaise...please. Please, ___please_."

She felt the hair behind her ear being lifted and his lips pressing against the back of her neck there, suckling and licking it. And then suddenly, he bit her.

It was as if that was the release she needed. A gasp of a sort of finality escaped her lips and she rubbed against him one final time, trying to keep that feeling just one more time. The warmth abated from the rest of her body and rushed to her head. She felt like she was buzzing, rising, and falling all at once, but she also felt satisfied.

She felt arms wrap themselves around her and she gave into them, exhausted suddenly. Her body rested against his, her head resting on his shoulder, the smell of him still all around her . Her eyes closed.

"Hermione, I love you."

* * *

_This is the first lemony Harry Potter fanfic I've written in a long, long while. I read quite a few BlaisexHermione fanfics and I love them. And I've read some about Blaise being a Veela and love those too (because of the smut). So I'm trying my hand. I'm inspired by Tina74's "Not So Human Nature" and am sad that "she" never "finished," so I want to explore this vein and create my own scenario about what happens after the last chapter._

_Or make lemony smut scenes within another piece of work...whichever. Don't judge._

_I set some of the moments of Deathly Hallows in the summer after The Half Blood Prince, so all the characters will be in Hogwarts. I've got a lot in store so R&R and Story Alert me!_

_P.S. I love constructive criticism—not flames. I'm not forcing you read something you don't want to or don't think I should write because someone made a particular story already. If I write something you don't like, you can always hit the back arrow on your browser. If you don't like this, you can have at me in the comments, but be prepared because I'll respond the same way. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate entwined with one particular Slytherin. AU fanonBlaizexHermione + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

"Oh baby

When I look at the ceiling,

on my back after dreaming,

you're the first thing on my mind."

"Say It So" - Mateo, _Love & Stadiums II_

* * *

Her breath, her darkened curls, her body, were soft against him. She was real; she was here in his arms; she had accepted The Mark. He was so happy. It made everything else he had worried about, all his other actions seem so...pointless, if not childish, now. There were things he had to worry about of course, things that were now dependent on her, but for now, he wanted to focus on the moment they were sharing together. She would sleep until morning, a side effect from the Marking—plenty of time for him to be in bliss with her.

The moment he had reached maturity, he had felt himself drawn to her. He remembered his father telling him about it, the dream that would tell him who his mate was. And he remembered the dream with clarity, the moment it had gone from absolute darkness to color and light and ___her_. And most especially the feeling that had greeted him when he awoke:

Love.

Pure love.

As simple and certain and unquestionable as that.

He spent days reliving every vague memory he had of her. He had assured his mother that he could wait until the school year started, that he was sure she'd be there when Hogwarts opened its doors and he would try his best to tell her then and make her understand. But all of a sudden, there were reports of the war coming to a head somewhere in the countryside back in Wizarding Britain. That Death Eaters and their resistors had gathered in a town, with people from both sides coming and fleeing...or dropping to the ground in death. That The Dark Lord and Harry Potter were locked in battle.

Blaise knew Hermione had to be there and he continued to dream and worry about her, the image in his mind so safe, while the real one was far away and fighting for her life. Close to three weeks had passed when he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't care about the neutrality his mother desired so much; he didn't care if his being there made him a target, a "blood traitor." He was going there to join Hermione, to fight beside her.

The war was declared over the day he had finished packing his things. And then what followed were reports of wanted Death Eaters—classmates, some of whom he recognized, Goyle, Crabbe, and others—and funeral rites, the names and pictures of the honored dead in ___The Daily Prophet_. He was sure she wasn't coming back to Hogwarts, that she'd join the effort to find the deserters with Potter and Weasley—sodding Potter and Weasley, the two guys that could have her attention all to themselves and keep her from him.

It was the venom in that thought that had given him pause. He had never been jealous before, but the dream he had had right after these feelings had been known to him, the one where he had finally found Hermione and she rejected him because she was Gryffindor and he, ___he _was ___Slytherin_, had sent him over the edge.

He was inconsolable. There was nothing his mother could do to talk him down from the desperation he felt...a fog had appeared in his head, one that kept Hermione's image close to him. He wanted that vision all to himself, and he became angry that his mother was trying to bring him out of it. He had been aware of his sudden anger, of things in their home being broken by him, but didn't know who it was that had restrained him that night, just the feeling of hands keeping him down and the men shouting spells to stun him. When ___it_, the smoke in his mind cleared for the moment, he was in their drawing room and overhearing someone speak about something...him. And Hogwarts.

___"...She says...she doesn't know what else to do. That she cannot help him or keep him here. He may hurt himself or someone else who isn't his mate...She's asking you to please, please keep him at the castle..."_

And in the next moment, when he reemerged from the fog once more, he was back at school in the Heads Quarters...and still without her.

___"Mr. Zabini, I can assure you that Miss Granger has accepted her duty as Head Girl and will be arriving to school upon the beginning of the term," Professor McGonagall said to him, her hand grasping his. She had been visiting him the morning after the day he believed was after his arrival, her face pinched at the fact that his breakfast laid untouched and he was despondent to her attempts at conversation. "She has not sent a letter telling us that she would not be arriving. I have begun research about what is happening to you. I am trying to do my best to prepare an explanation of the situation and your behavior upon her arrival."_

___"It...it doesn't matter. She wouldn't accept. She's Hermione Granger, part of the 'The Golden Trio,' and she, she'll see me as a, a, a ____Slytherin____...and she won't want me."_

___"Mr. Zabini, all of that is in your mind. I am sure that Miss Granger doesn't hate you because of your house. You must be patient."_

___But he didn't feel like talking about it anymore. It hurt too much. He brought himself up and walked over to a chair in the common room, settling unto the leather and letting whoever it was talk about whatever it was they were on about._

___"...Minerva, you __must____ h____ave Hermione come to school early. He isn't improving. He doesn't feed himself...that walk will be the most he'll move until I move him..."_

Voices swirled around him from time to time after that, but he didn't care about what they said. He only came out of that fog once more, and was greeted with the picture they had placed outside of the quarters. A scene at a party that had a woman that looked enough like ___her _to him, but she called herself Antoinette. He couldn't remember questioning if her image was there on purpose.

_"____I've asked____ the headmistress, Mr. Zabini. She says that Miss Granger will be arriving on the morrow. You must be happy about this news."_

___He smiled sadly. "She won't come. She won't come or accept me as her mate...But, can I tell you my dreams about her?"_

___Antoinette hesitated for a moment before giving herself away to graceful resignation."...Yes, of course."_

"...___Whenever I close my eyes, I see her. She is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen—you'd understand if you saw her. Her hair, every curl, seems to be like a..."_

And then, somehow in the midst of the fog that had returned soon after that, there was the sound of the door opening and a smell, a smell that dissipated through the haze he had made his home. Like vanilla and blackberries and a unique smell, a cleanliness he loved even though he never encountered it before. And then a voice...more like a hiss of pain that snapped him awake and forced him to be lucid. He made a motion in his seat. "Um," he struggled to remember the woman's name, the one whose voice that always introduced itself to him and swirled around him time to time. "Madam, Madam Pomfrey?"

"...N-no. It's Hermione."

Impossible. It couldn't be; she wasn't going to come back. And if she was, she wasn't going to come to _him_. He was her enemy...but still... "Hermione? You're here?" He stood and found her in the dark. Summer, in spite the obvious difficulties and hardships she had faced throughout the season, had been good to her. Those wide, chocolate-brown eyes staring at him, those beautiful, relaxed curls framing her face, the clothing he never made up for her in his head, the skin that kept that smell. She was so beautiful to him, even more so than in his dreams, the love he had grew stronger.

But Blaise recognized the fear she had towards him.

"Um um um, yes I am." Her eyes met his.

Knowing that she was afraid of him did hurt, but still... "...I'm glad."

The moment he said those words, something about him seemed to come and reach out for her. Everything he had been feeling since that first night...the yearning he had had to have her before his eyes, and something else that was primal and not entirely ___him_...the Veela side of himself making itself known, the carnal need for her. The need to have her, this beautiful woman, as his once and for all; to ___make _her his.

His eyes didn't pull away from hers, but he reached out for her, the sight of her teeth biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip affecting him so much, he had to lick his own to stop from kissing her. "I'm glad."He moved closer to her and put his hands in those curls of hers, toffee-brown in the dark. Some part outside of himself watched in wonder as she, some part of her, reached up and touched him with her hands.

And, just as his father described it, he felt ___her_: her confusion at what was going on; her suspicions about what was happening between them; her waning resistance; and the growing arousal...and acceptance. It brought him closer to her, brought his hands to touch her more. This touch was real; her reaction and exhales were real and laced with desire for him. He was convinced it was reciprocal. "I'm glad," he repeated. That was an understatement.

"I...am...too..." She leaned into his hand, sighed against his touch. Those brown eyes of hers were darkening and the pink bow of her mouth was so inviting.

And he found himself unable to hold back anymore. He kissed her, and the rest was pleasure...

Now, in the dark of the common room, he had given her The Mark. He figured putting it on the side of her neck was best since the bruise would be visible for awhile. ___Although, _he realized, ___she probably has more than that ____one bruise._

This was only the beginning, and yet, Blaise was ready for what came next. Her getting to know him, her getting to see him as her mate. "Hermione, I love you," he said again to the sleeping woman in his arms. He slowly rose and carried her to her room and placed her in her bed. "Good night." He walked over to her desk and sat down. He didn't feel tired yet, so he made himself comfortable as he watched her and the stars appear outside and listened as the room was filled with the music of her breathing.

* * *

The next thing he knew, that music was being cut off by a gasp of surprise.

The sound, quiet and unfamiliar, jerked him from sleep. Blaise jolted up and stared around him wildly, the room's layout, the cherry wood bedroom set, all unrecognizable to him. His hand ran itself through his own thick hair. He couldn't exactly remember how he got here; hell, he didn't even remember putting on the clothes he was wearing. But then he looked over at her lying on her bed, bewildered, and then it all came rushing back.

It must have been the same for her as well, judging from the way she gripped her blanket, trying her best to hide her opened dress from him. She looked even better in the morning, those curled eyelashes, the sun illuminating the strands of copper in her hair, the tiny bit of sunburn on her cheeks...and the slight swell of her lips, he noticed.

"Why—why are you in here?"

She apparently wasn't much for saying "hello" or "good morning."

"I brought you here after last night and then stayed—just in case you needed something."

Her hand touched her neck and she looked at her fingertips and then at him, eyebrows crinkled in disbelief. "You...you bit me!"

He wanted to laugh, but felt that that wouldn't be good for this moment. "I ___Marked _you. It is something Veelas do upon meeting their mate; it...connects them." He recollected his father's words from long ago. He neared her, his face a mask of concern. "It will bruise for a moment, but does it hurt? Maybe I can ask the house elves for ice." He reached out to brush his fingers across her cheek, which was reddening. Him acting like this towards her, he knew it was strange—but it felt good. He found he wanted to be that way for her.

She apparently wasn't one for masking her thoughts either. His blue eyes noticed her steeling her jaw, trying to focus on...something...whatever was affecting her. Something about him no doubt. "You said yesterday, before I fell asleep, that you loved me."

"Yes." He murmured. He was surprised she had heard that.

"Why?"

He blinked out of the trance he had had. "Why do I love you?"

"Yes, why? Is there something—I mean...well...wouldn't a Pureblood be better suited for you?"

His hand dropped from her cheek and instead rested on the bed, near hers. A million thoughts and reasons ran through his mind about "Why": from her name and the way it sounded; to her voice, its pitch and timbers and ring of confidence; to her eyes and nose and lips and hair and sun-kissed skin; her dedication to her studies, her thirst to be a smarter and better witch; her inner strength and her ferocity. And yet, when his mouth opened after a period of thought, he said the following:

"I just do."

"...And the bond we have...it's unbreakable."

He balled a bit of blanket in his hand, trying not to show his surprise at her interrogation about the day before. Blaise didn't know what he was expecting from her so soon, but it wasn't these questions. "Yes, Hermione," he said with a sort of finality, "it's unbreakable."

There was a long silence between them as his confirmation settled in the room. And then her demeanor changed. He watched her face strain to keep itself stoic, but her nose was reddening and her eyes were watering. She wriggled from under her blanket, scooting little by little off the bed, her hands trying to button and straighten her dress. "Oh...okay...Do you, do you want to go get something to eat? Breakfast? Um, brunch?" He followed her eyes in their search for the clock that indeed said ___Brunch_.

"Yes. Yes I would." His brow furrowed. "Hermione—"

"—Okay, so let's both go to our rooms and get ready. Maybe we can take an hour to clean up." The way she moved quickly across the floor, trying to make herself decent, grabbing her bags and searching inside her perfectly packed suitcase for her toothbrush and soap made him stand up as well, his senses heightened. There was something wrong with her; it was like she was unaware that he could still read her feelings for the moment: she was upset and unhappy. He wanted to say something to her as he noticed her hand wiping at her face, but suddenly (he didn't know quite know ___how__)_he was outside her door. He could still hear her though—a squeaking, hiccuping sound; the way she stomped or ran towards her bathroom; and a sharp sob before she slammed the bathroom door.

* * *

They didn't talk as they walked towards the Great Hall for lunch, minus him complimenting her outfit, the billowy pistachio-colored shirt, jeans, and sandals; her reply of the same vein; and their greeting to Antoinette and her party. Despite the fact she looked completely calm, there was nothing about her expression or body language that the quarter-Veela could read as tranquil, and so he lapsed into the silence.

The Great Hall was empty, the only other seats being filled by the Headmistress and the few and new professors that had arrived to school early. He gave a small grin and nod to his favorite instructor, Professor Vector, before pulling out Hermione's seat and settling in the one beside her and eating the food in front of them: salad, sandwiches, and soups.

Somehow, the sight of all the food in front of him brought on a fierce hunger he wasn't expecting. As much as he allowed himself to be chivalrous and let the brunette get what she wanted, he found himself eating two sandwiches and reaching for a third, only using his soup to soften the bread as he swallowed it. He didn't even really care if anything dripped on the white shirt he wore; he had never been this hungry before.

Footsteps clicked sharply against the floor towards them. "Miss Granger, Mr. Zabini."

"Headmistress, Madam Pomfrey." Hermione greeted the two women.

"I want you two to join me in my office later on tonight. Since you are both are here early, it is best if we begin to prepare for the students next week: protocol; your responsibilities to the Prefects; rules I want to implement; an icebreaker between you and the new professors; things we may have to keep in mind in the first few weeks; and the like."

"Yes, of course."

"Blaise," Madam Pomfrey's hand pressed on his shoulder as he sipped some of his pumpkin juice, "I am happy that you are out and about, and your appetite has returned to you."

He swallowed. "Pardon?" He looked at the woman confusedly.

"Your appetite. This is the most you've eaten since your arrival. I thought you may not have remembered, but a lot of the meals you were given, you wouldn't eat without my assistance. I am happy that your are," her eyes suddenly seemed to switch between him and Hermione as she realized what she was revealing, "doing well," she said in a quieter voice.

He gave her a smile, not outwardly affected by the awkward moment that followed. "Yes...I would like to thank you—and the Headmistress—for your attention to my health. I truly appreciate it."

Madam Pomfrey smiled brightly at him. "We are just happy that Miss Granger arrived and you are fine now."

In the corner of his eye, he spied the brunette placing her soup spoon down, uncomfortable with the conversation.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "We shall leave you two to your lunch. And Mr. Zabini, now that you are well, you may want to contact your mother. I have gone ahead and sent word that you've improved, but I am sure she is still worried about your well-being and would appreciate a word from you."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

He spied Hermione in the corner of his eye. She wasn't staring at him, but her hand pressed to that special and specific spot behind her neck that was buried by her side ponytail. The resulting bruise from The Mark a Veela gave to his mate wasn't something that took to magic covering it up so soon.

"Would you like to go back to our quarters? Unpack your things?"

"...Yes. Thank you."

* * *

The rest of the day flowed slowly: Hermione unpacking her things for the rest of the afternoon and the glory of her company when she agreed to go down to dinner; and then their meeting with McGonagall and the trip back; and then her declaration that she was tired and was going to bed.

He stood, the letter he was writing to his mother being left behind on their table. He was going to take it to the Owlery the moment it was ready, which would be very soon.

The steps they took to her room were too short in his opinion and barely allowed enough time for him to reach out for her. "Good night, Hermione. Please sleep well."

"Thank you...Good night...Zabini." Her hand slipped free and she entered her room, closing the door softly. Not a single sound came from the other side. A Silencing Spell no doubt.

Hand raking his hair, frustration etched on his face, he went back to the table and sat down.

"...I worry that in spite her allowing me to Mark her, she will continue to be unwilling to have me. I am unsure of what I should do—I have no idea of how to make things better. This is a situation Papa never told me I would face. I do not mean to worry you more with this letter, but if you can think of anything I can do—please tell me.

"I love you,

"Blaise"

* * *

_Chapter 2, Blaise's perspective. In writing this, I began to feel sorry for him—being in love with someone who performed an act that bonds you to them forever and then realizing that that level of love doesn't match._

_Usually when I write, there's a song that may have a hand in what and the tone, and I feel like sharing that with you, dear reader. The quote from the beginning is from a really nice song that doesn't quite fit in with this chapter because it's about love lost, but it really helped shape the tone. _

_R&R_


	3. Chapter 3

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate entwined with one particular Slytherin. AU fanonBlaizexHermione + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

Terminology

_Auero_: gold

_(Source: GoogleTranslate)_

* * *

"...you've just been staring into space since you sat down." A voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Have I?" He asked absently as the Head Girl sat down with her friends, Potter and the two Weasley siblings. None of them had looked over at him yet; she had kept her part of the "agreement" thus far.

"Blaise," the voice was sharp in its call for attention. "Yes, yes you are...Are you okay?"

Blaise turned his glance from the Gryffindor Table and the friends that surrounded Hermione like a fortress, and stared at his, Daphne Greengrass. He had only befriended her in fifth year, but he valued the relationship; he was more than aware of some of the things other girls in school said about him when he walked by, and was happy she never acted that way towards him. He supposed that that was because of the circumstances that had predated their friendship: the rumor about her and Marcus Flint; the subsequent abandonment she had faced from Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls and harassment she had faced from some of the other Slytherin boys; and the truth of that "relationship" she had revealed to the house the night before N.E.W.T.s...

Or it could have been her saying in those first months of them "hanging out"—more like her just sitting near him and trying to hide herself—that she wasn't attracted to him and wouldn't make the mistake of feeling that way towards anyone else in the school for as long as she was still there. He glanced over at her. Though some of those so-called friends of hers had returned, she hadn't stopped being weary in regards to them. She was aware that her looks—her long-lashed blue eyes, small and straight nose, pouty lips, and petite yet slender and long-limbed frame—and the things she did—the honey-brown colored curls she set almost daily, the heels she wore to compensate for her five-foot-four height, and lipstick color she chose—intimidated them and garnered her attention she didn't want from others in their house and from time to time, the rest of the school.

Her eyes followed his and a sigh escaped her lips as she grabbed a bowl of strawberries and took the ones she wanted. "They're a quiet lot in the morning, aren't they? Maybe half of them lost their voices after last night."

She was referring to the events of the disastrous welcoming ceremony the night before. About the only things that had gone as McGonagall wanted were her speech and the introductions of he and Hermione and the new professors of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions and her announcements, among which included the fact that Slytherin and Gryffindor wouldn't be co-classes anymore. She had barely ended the moment of silence when everyone who had not participated started whispering about a notable lack of Slytherin upperclassmen, among which included Draco Malfoy and his lot.

But the Sorting Ceremony was the worst part. Just about every first year placed into Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor was greeted with loud cheers and applause by the upperclassmen of each respective house in the school; however, for every Slytherin, many of the cheers that filled the Great Hall were only from the Slytherins themselves. That was on top of the fact that the number of first-year Slytherins was smaller in comparison to the other classes. However, the Head Boy noticed that of the few that did applaud, Potter for whatever reason, was included...along with Hermione,which, hours later, he couldn't understand.

"It'll get better as the year goes by."

She scoffed. "We can only hope. Or ___may_be...we ___don't _have to hope; we'll be led by the Head Boy and Girl—perfect opposites in every way, but the embodiment of 'The New Hogwarts.'" She joked sarcastically, using a line from McGonagall's speech and popping a sugar-coated strawberry into her mouth.

He doubted it. The routine of that second day had quickly morphed into her spending most of her time by herself in her room or in the library, the only exceptions of that being meals they ate together yet separately in the Great Hall and McGonagall's meetings. However, whenever she came into the common room and announced she was going to sleep, he always walked those few short steps to her room and bade her goodnight. It was his favorite time of the day, even if it was short and she called him "Zabini" instead of "Blaise" by way of parting words...the most she ___had _said to him was last night, when she promised to not tell her friends about..."anything."

His eyes picked up on Weasley staring at him in confusion and then trying to play it off by paying attention to the scrambled eggs he had in front of him. A few words were exchanged and his sister and the rest of them turned to blatantly stare, all eyes on him...except the pair of brown eyes he wanted to see the most.

"Blaise? Your toast." Daphne's voice was more worried than teasing now.

He spied a chunk of orange marmalade about to fall off his half-eaten slice of toast and saved it just in time.

He tried to ignore the eyebrow Daphne raised at his antics; he was nothing short of slightly panicked until she turned back to her breakfast, but damned if he showed it though.

He picked up the books for his first class, suddenly not hungry anymore. "Daphne, I'm going to the library before classes begin—

"It's only the first day; what do you have to study?"

"I'll see you later."

"What about the rest of your food?" She pointed her fork at the rest of his meal and barely touched coffee.

"Later."

He left without a look back at her or the Gryffindor Table, his heart beating like a drum of sorts.

* * *

"That's the third time that bloke's looking over here." Ron said into his breakfast, or rather, plate of eggs.

"Who?" Ginny glanced around the table, being careful not to knock into Harry's arm.

"The one sitting beside that Greengrass girl—Zabini."

"Why would he be looking over here?" Ginny and just about everyone else looked over, catching him place down his toast, say a few words to the beautiful girl sitting beside him, and stand to leave the table. To Hermione's eyes, he looked a bit harried, and she wondered how much of it was because of her, an entirely selfish train of thought, but one she couldn't ignore being bothered about.

"...Zabini, 'Mione?"

"Hmm?" She looked up at Harry, the tail-end of whatever he was asking scaring her.

"I asked if you two got along well when you were here for Heads stuff."

"Oh. Yes."

"Well, that's good—he's never seemed like a bad bloke."

"That's true. It's pretty impressive how quickly the girls act mad over him, though. I heard some first-years this morning—'Head Boy' this and that." The sixth-year rolled her eyes in good nature, amused with the underclassmen and their antics.

"He's ___not _a 'bad bloke'—for a Slytherin anyway." Ron quipped. That's all he had to say about the subject.

As they began another topic, their classes, Hermione allowed herself internal conversation. An entire week spent in the same vicinity together, and she and Zabini had barely spoken past that second day. It was wrong, but she could admit to herself that the reason behind that were the feelings she had about him. ___Everything _about the situation still affected her.

She was aware enough to know that the way she was acting was stupid and immature, but even knowing the cause of her hesitancy, the seventh-year girl couldn't shake it. Most girls she knew, like Lavender and Pavarti, would have flipped at knowing they were mates of someone like Blaise. But for her, his admittance that they were unbreakable seemed to be a curse, a fate that had been shoved upon her without asking or approval. And the nature of that was different from its closest scenario, joining Harry—

"'Mione." She looked up to see Ron and Harry standing on her either side. The redhead's hand was on her shoulder to grab her attention. "If you don't come on, we'll be late for Hagrid's."

"Oh," she gave them a wry smile as she picked up her own bag, "sorry."

The rest of the morning and afternoon passed with classes, praises about making it to their final year, and introductions about the difficulty of the course material, but she keep catching herself only half-listening and putting in more effort to writing her notes than she usually had to. And then there was lunch (with surreptitious looks at the Slytherin Table), and then a quick detour to the Heads Common Room for her Ancient Runes material that turned into a panic when a school owl appeared with a letter for Zabini and refused to give it to her in his stead. She finally gave up, placing the tin of bird seed usually left for school owls on the window sills on their study table and leaving the owl to its own devices. By the time she had gotten away, she was running to class, sure her red-patent leather flats were making sparks across the corridor floor.

She was the last to enter the classroom, ducking in the first chair available to her eye, but she was happy she hadn't been late and inspired the ire of her favorite professor. However, no matter how much she loved Professor Archana Babbling and her quirky and enthusiastic (yet intense) teaching style, it still wasn't enough to keep Hermione entertained for long and she was back to thinking right where she had left off.

The nature of that, of her helping Harry, was different: she had ___willingly _helped Harry. The black-haired, green-eyed boy had given her and Ron plenty of reasons to walk away from things he had felt obligated to do to save the Wizarding World; to allow them to stay with their families and live out their lives peacefully. But from their first adventure to those days huddled in houses with Tonks and Lupin and whomever else was on their side, sleeping in shifts and waiting for Death Eater attacks or standing completely still and, for her personally, trying not to cry whenever someone announced a killing or simply hadn't been found yet, she had agreed to helping him, knowing that doing so would make things better for everyone down the line and that her sense of duty wouldn't let him walk alone.

But this thing with Zabini, Hermione felt like it had been forced on her. Maybe if she had known him before, if she had even spoken to him once—or even participated in the gossip and conversations about "the cutest boys in school"—maybe she wouldn't have felt this way. She hated this self-pitying of hers because it wasn't going to help her. And it was useless because the rational side that had told her to stop crying in the shower that second day told her that she ___had _made a decision, that she ___had _chosen this willingly enough, and that it didn't necessarily dictate her entire future or her work to be a force against the ideals that said she was "inferior" because of her blood.

And some other side told her that... "succumbing" to Zabin—___Blaise_—no, Zab—___Zabini's _nature hadn't been bad, that she hadn't even ___cared _about—

"Ah," her professor said, her henna-tattooed fingers pulling off her Indian-printed scarf, "now that that's done, and our time is almost finished, I can tell you about your major assignment for the year. In addition to all the little assignments I'll give and class participation, there are texts for translation. Judged on accuracy and neatness, to be done every six weeks. No late or incomplete work accepted without a legitimate excuse. These translations will either be too hard or too verbose to be done alone. By that, I mean the work is to be done in its entirety with a partner.

"So, look at the person you're sitting beside: he or she is your second brain, and your grades are dependent on your collaborative efforts, so talk to them and try to work something out. I will give you your first assignment next class."

Hermione watched as the other eight members of her class conversed amongst each other briefly, making decisions to figure out their methodology after the next lecture and moving on to talk about their summers or idle gossip. She turned her attention to her partner and found herself staring at Terence Higgs, another Slytherin that, with the exception of their Ancient Runes classes, seemed to fade into the background. He was friendly—___"for a Slytherin," _Ron's words came up in her mind—and smart enough that he wouldn't be leaving all the work for her to do alone. But, what—was she some sort of Slytherin magnet now?

"...So, we're partners." He said by way of breaking their silence. The classroom, placed right where the sun could filter light and warmth, had apparently made him peel out of his robes at one point and sling them over a shoulder.

"Yes." She said, but in a much more neutral tone than the one he had.

"Do you want to meet Wednesday night or this weekend to begin the assignment? Doesn't make sense to think about something we haven't been given yet."

"Um...sure. The library on Wednesday after dinner?"

"Okay." He got off his chair, smoothly shrugging on his bookbag. "I'll see you there, Granger."

* * *

"...From your description, I can tell she is very beautiful, Mi Auero. And I am happy that she has accepted The Mark. But now, I worry about your tale of her reaction the following morning. You giving it in the manner you did was crucial at the time, but the next step is important to the both of you. And while I trust your decision in handling it the way you want, there is a great risk in doing so. I am concerned about her peace of mind as well as yours. Do not hesitate to take the steps to unify the two of you.

"I do not know your mate's personality; you've told me to discount those articles written about her in The Quibbler and I've started doing so, and I avoid The Daily Prophet because the news isn't good. But I will venture to guess that her reaction may stem from many things, such as your house or even your blood lineage. And even if it's not, the controversy of both is something you face upon leaving Hogwarts. This obstacle cannot stop you from making things better with her, however; you have to impress upon her a separation of the Slytherin name and you, Blaise. As for how, I of course, cannot say, but I know you will find the solution.

"Again, I am happy you are well. Please update me as often as you can on your progress. And tell me if there is anything you need.

"I love you,

"Mama"

Blaise closed the letter again, feeling exhausted physically yet calm in his train of thought. After soaking in his mother's beautiful handwriting for the third time, he was tired of reading. He was alone after his first and relatively easy patrol with Hermione, who had gone off to Gryffindor Tower to be with her friends for awhile, the title of "Head Girl" making it easy for her to keep out a bit past curfew. ___Impress upon her a separation between me and 'Slytherin'? _It was easier for his mother to say it than for him to do, but she was right. He could understand that maybe Hermione ___did _harbor those feelings the rest of Hogwarts showed towards his house last night. But she wasn't part of the collective in his mind; she could have her own opinion about him, ___Blaise Zabini_, one that didn't match her friends or anyone else's. And to make this begin to work, he had to make that clear.

___Right. Because that's so _bloody ___easy right now._

His hand ran through his curls, almost pulling at the root and trying to think of a way to use the advice he had solicited his mother for...

The common room door opened and Hermione walked in, the peace he seemed to detect from her first steps ending as she came upon him. She paused at his sitting figure, her eyes staring at the paper in his hand. "...You got your letter," she said lightly, beginning what was usually awkward conversation that eventually led to her declaring she was tired and was going to sleep.

"Yes."

"Oh...Okay. Because when the owl came, it didn't want to give it to me. I told it that I wouldn't read it, but still..."

"I'm sorry. My mother—whenever I send her a letter using a school owl and it returns with her reply, she always gives it instructions that I be the only person who reads it. And for some reason, they always take it so seriously." He smiled thinking about her, his eyes crinkling.

"She ___only _writes to me in Italian and I've told her I'm the ___only _person in the school who could read it, but she's insistent. I have no idea what she does to make them so focused—I remember once one couldn't bring me her letter because I was in class, so it had to go back to the Owlery. The people there tried to take the note from it and it went completely mad. I had to be called out of class anyway, and when I got there, its standing on its perch, wings wide open and screeching. And everyone else is in the corner, completely frightened and yelling at me to make it stop—" the Italian boy broke off his story and chuckled loudly at his mother's antics.

And then heard music when he detected the chime of her joining him. The sound of their laughter mixing together, as short-lived as it was, reverberated in the room, made it brighter to his eyes. He had found it, the opening he needed...to say something, anything, to get through to her.

"I...I'm going to bed now."

He stood and reached for her hand, guiding her to her room.

"Good night, Zabini." The same words, but they hadn't sounded as sad or dismissive as the nights before. She pulled her hand out of his and grabbed at her bedroom doorknob.

And Blaise was still thinking about the opening and how he didn't want the opportunity it gave to slip past him. He reached for her hand one more time, and felt his heart leap when she turned around. Her bottom lip was suffering abuse from her teeth, her quintessential mark of worry.

"Hermione. I want you to know that in spite...in spite of what you may be thinking...I am much more than my house or my, my, my blood."

It was monumentally the corniest shit he had ever said in his life. A certain creep of embarrassment, a blush, rose on his cheeks. Of all the things he could say, he had opted to steal his mother's words? Worse, he actually stuttered through them?

"...I know," she replied.

His heart was pounding. They were talking to each other, not ___at _each other for the first time since the second day. "...Okay..."

His heart crept into his neck, he was that happy. He didn't want the moment to end, but it was, of course, fleeting.

Her hand slipped out of his, but she was slow to duck into her room. "Thank you, Zabini...good night."

He nodded and walked across to his room, happier than in what felt like years.

* * *

_Chapter 3. I'm happy I got to add characters in this chapter. So in writing this, I really wanted to take __Malfoy out of the equation, so I dug through Harry Potter Wiki to look for some other Slytherin names. I know that people are familiar with the name Daphne Greengrass, but she doesn't seem to be part of anything, just a name that floats around from time to time. And Terence Higgs _does _exist—Harry Potter Wiki has him there, so I'm bringing him in because he gets even less love in the book and movies._

_R&R_


	4. Chapter 4

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

"Our love will sail, in this arc.

The world could end outside our window

Let's find forever

and write our name in fire on each other's hearts."

"Say You'll Go" - Janelle Monae, _Archandroid_

* * *

Two days later, at breakfast, the owls from ___The Daily Prophet _dropped maybe the second biggest news story of the year since Voldemort's death unto the tables of The Great Hall. On the front page:

******"DEATH EATER FACTION UNCOVERED IN RAID"**

******"WALES—Early this morning, Ministry Aurors performed a raid on a house in Flintshare, capturing 6 Death Eaters. This is the first uncovering of its kind since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his supporters last month at what is now being called The Battle of Godric's Hollow. According to witnesses, the raid was relatively peaceful, but it is unclear if there were any injuries from either side.**

******"At this time, The Ministry has not issued an official statement in regards to preparations of the raid and are withholding the names of the captured. Although efforts were made to reach Auror Department Director Kingsley Shacklebolt, the department refused to contact ****____****The Prophet ********at the time of this article's printing.**

******"The raid, while successful, is an indicator of the difficulties the Aurors face in the coming months, as well as the difficulty the Ministry faces at large in its recovery from the political upheaval it experienced during the Death Eater's reign in government and their placement of former Minister of Magic and Dark Lord supporter Pius Thicknesse…"**

"I can't believe it!" Ginny said, discarding her attention to her egg on toast for the moment. It's barely been a month." Her eyes skimmed the rest of the article. "…It says they were in a town with Muggles. I guess not to be detected." She handed over her copy to her older brother and waited patiently for him to turn to the inner pages where the rest of the story was located. "...D'you think they're trying to regroup?" The redhead girl's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I'm not sure...Maybe. There were a lot of Death Eaters that abandoned the battle on the first day." Harry looked at the front-page photo of his own copy, the Aurors escorting hooded figures into the Ministry, their faces tilted downward to avoid the camera. He sighed, slapping the paper down. The tremors were enough to upset his and Ginny's goblets and make some pumpkin juice spill over. "Sorry," his wand waved over the mess, "...it's frustrating, not knowing what's going on."

Ron looked up and stared at the Slytherin table. "I wonder how many of those blokes picked up were from ___them_."

Hermione, who had been very invested in her own breakfast up to that point, followed the others' glances. Apart from the first-years whose school days always started early and those few upperclassmen with early morning classes or just hungry enough to leave their beds for breakfast, the Slytherin Table was relatively deserted. However, of the aforementioned latter groups of students sitting at their table, most of them sat with their backs to the rest of the Great Hall, deliberately making an effort not to look back at the rest of the hall.

Of course, there were exceptions, or rather two in Hermione's mind: Zabini and Greengrass, the latter reading the front page news and the former eating his breakfast peacefully.

Her fingers set her fork down as she continued to stare at the exchange between the two of them. Greengrass was still perusing the article, her mouth opening from time to time to make some comment, and her brow furrowing as her eyes shifted from left to right.

But the Head Girl finally realized that whatever the brunette was saying was being ignored because Blaise was looking right at her. Her brown eyes and his blue ones met and locked long enough to feel like the room was melting away and leaving only them behind. He looked...well, to be honest, like a Slytherin: cool and impassive at the news and everything else going on around him.

___"Hermione. I want you to know that in spite of what you may be thinking...I am much more than my house or my…blood."_

She heard the words echo in her mind and a greater part of her, surprisingly and wholeheartedly, believed them, but—

His gaze finally broke away at Greengrass' offhand call for his attention, the slapping down of the paper and an upset expression marring her features.

Without knowing it, both girls watched as he took the copy, tucked it under his arm, said something to Greengrass, and proceeded to walk out The Great Hall without looking back. And while Greengrass was over it almost immediately afterward, nonchalantly going back to eating her breakfast, her mind was wracking back and forth and trying to understand what had just happened.

But, for the life for her, there was nothing she could really get from what she had just witnessed.

* * *

They were at the part he hated the most: the end of the day.

"Good night, Hermione." His hand slipped out of hers and she took that step and a half towards her door where he wanted to follow but knew he couldn't.

"Good night..." She seemed to linger for a little while longer, as if reluctant to go in just yet, her brow just a little wrinkled.

He gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes, the result of a lot of things, thoughts, the least and the most of those reasons jumbled together on his mind.

Her hand turned the knob and suddenly his hand reached out to hers. The briefest touch, but enough to grab her attention.

She turned to him, those chocolate eyes of hers illuminated from the back light of her room.

"Sleep well."

"...Thank you." She stepped inside and let the door close with a soft _click_.

He walked back to the common room, sitting in his seat at the study table. The Potions professor, like his predecessor, was just as difficult with N.E.W.T.-level assignments. And, like always, his penchant to naturally procrastinate guaranteed to leave him with a long night followed by a short early morning sleep.

But unlike the other times when he'd attempt to be completely immersed in his work, he sat in his favorite chair and rummaged in his bags, where he had left ___it_.

The paper.

******"DEATH EATER FRACTION FOUND"**

___Fuck._

* * *

**"SHACKLEBOT ADDRESSES RECENT RAIDS, BUT IS SILENT ON FUTURE AUROR INITIATIVES"**

* * *

News of the Auror raid seemed to be ___the _topic of discussion for the rest of the week, growing in momentum as more columns and editorials popped up in the newspaper. It seemed like the only thing anyone wanted to talk about, even when someone exclaimed about how tired they were of talking about it. Even girls who were always more interested in rehashing the same gossip tibits from the weekend before had wiggled it into conversation. Hermione noticed there were a few more suspicious glances cast at Slytherin House by the other houses than usual.

And she noticed that in turn, she, Ron, and Harry were on the receiving end of a few looks from Slytherin themselves. She was used to dirty looks—being the smartest in her class, a member of "The Golden Trio," and Malfoy's favorite target of ridicule during the last six years had prepared her well enough—but she was more used to being largely ignored and wasn't exactly accepting of the glares coming from the majority of them.

She figured that they all probably thought she knew about the Auror raid or that she, in particular, was excited—ecstatic-at the news. And of ___course _she was—a Death Eater cell sounded absolutely dangerous—but unlike her best friends, it wasn't something she was particularly joyful over nor did she harbor a desire to know more about it. Six years had been enough; there were other things she could do without having to be worried about every perceived enemy she maybe, possibly had, because, honestly, who in this world didn't have enemies?

Somehow, this train of thought always led to thoughts of Blaise. Specifically, how...ambivalent he had seemed that morning. She had been replaying the scene again and again in her free time, and to her, it seemed that his actions were...different from everyone else. The others that had sat at the table, when she had ventured to actually look at every other Slytherin seated, had seemed tense; the whispers that seemed to rise around her reflected the same tension, murmurs of "Us verses Them."

But there ___he _was, his face an absolute mask, his body language completely calm. It was almost as if he hadn't heard the news at all.

And when she thought about it...she could never really remember hearing him being on one definite side of the war. She couldn't ever remembering a conversation or rumors of him declaring his loyalty to Voldemort and supporters, or the resistance. It wasn't like she wasn't happy to realize that, but it reminded her of how little she knew of him.

And those thoughts made her think about how the two of them could possibly be "bound together" if he was just as mysterious—

___This is the millionth time you're thinking about him—____today____, _a smug voice in the back of her head said.___Even though you're acting like you don't care about the news, you ____do____care about where he stands. If you're that worried, why don't you just talk to him?_

Her brain had been on such an overload about Blaise, conversations about the growing news of the raids, and Harry's decision to make it a mission to try and contact The Order for more information, and the whispering around her had begun to irk her so much that it would've been an understatement to say she was in a pretty foul mood by the weekend. A particularly sour look marred her face as she headed to the library and made her way to her favorite section, "Early Mythological Creatures of the Caribbean," and began to set up for her Ancient Runes meeting, opening her notes and heading to the front where Professor Babbling had left a reference book for them to use.

This had been her third meeting with her Slytherin partner and they had gotten into a groove. Higgs—"Terence" actually; he had made the decision that they should be on a first-name basis because her calling him "Higgs" could possibly make him feel like she was addressing his father (of course, so far, he was the only one that was putting this decision into effect)—was dedicated enough to the assignment, but he was sloppy and made a lot of mistakes. Which is where she came in. She was definitely the best in class, so it was just a matter of going through whatever mistakes he made as well as checking her own work one more time. Other than his need to rush through his designated sections, she was right in thinking he wasn't going to be terrible as a partner.

By the time she made it back to the study table, tome in hand, Higgs was already there, his books and parchments and curiously, a broom, strewn about the table. The newest Cleansweep model if she could remember the bits she could follow of Harry and Ron's numerous Quidditch conversations.

"Hey," He gave a crooked grin as she emerged from the shelves, book in hand, "you got it. Great."

"Yeah." She settled into her leather upholstered seat, getting her quill and ink ready as he tried to accommodate the space he had taken over. She eyed the broom.

"Sorry." He moved it off the table. "It's just...Quidditch try-outs for Slytherin are Tuesday. I'm trying to get some practice in before then."

It was kind of funny how sheepish he was acting, she forgot herself for a moment. "Are you already trying to get out of this?" Hermione asked, her voice in mock surprise.

He seemed to be thrown off at that. "Oh. No, no—it's just..."

"I was joking. " She said, her attempt to lighten the mood fading and desire to not have this meeting at that very moment growing. "Um, let's just get started."

About an hour passed in moderate conversation, the focus on the symbols and the minor discussions on grammar and the like leaving little room for other topics. They had gained about another five inches when Terence announced that he was going off for a moment. It took her all of a minute of him leaving to throw down her quill and lean back into her chair to let her heavy curls fall down the back, her version of a break.

Her eyes slipped close and her mind racked over...___things_...once more until something interrupted her. Voices. Underclassmen it sounded like...talking once more about the raid.

"...___I _heard that her brother was an accomplice." The first voice loud and haughty enough to attract the brunette's attention. "She was in the bathroom crying about something when I walked in, gripping some letter her mum sent her. So I asked to read it, to find out what the big deal was—"

"Yeah." Her friend replied before the distinguishable ___pop _of a stick of gum. "So..."

"Well, he's in Azkaban, which isn't surprising. But her mum's scared because the Ministry hasn't released him. They're maybe questioning him to see if he was at the battle and maybe he'll be convicted—that is if he even ___makes _it to trial what with the other Ministry stuff that's going on...Is ___that _the title?"

"No... Oh Merlin, I bet the copies of the sodding thing aren't even here anymore." The second girl cracked her gum once more. "...It's sad if her brother's gonna rot in prison for the rest of his life, it ___is_, but think about ___us_. ___We're _stuck here; everybody not in Slytherin thinks we're all a little army of Death Eaters ready to ransack the damn castle. If something happens, especially ___this _early, they'll carry the lot of us out of here in chains.

"I mean, think about it. What chance do ___we_, you and me, have against Harry Potter, that redhead guy, and the Head Girl?"

"True. And I'm sure the Head Girl would be more than happy to lock us up and throw away the key...I've never even seen a Squib in my entire life, let alone a," the girl's voice became a whisper that was just as loud as her regular voice, "___Mudblood_, but I'm sure that wouldn't even matter—"

"—You ___do _know she's in the library right now, right behind you? And that she can hear you 'coz you're not exactly being quiet?" Higgs' voice suddenly boomed through the exchange.

"…No, she's not." The second girl said in suspicion and disbelief. The seventh-year didn't speak, but he must have done ___something _because there was a rustling sound and she suddenly became very aware of eyes on her. She didn't move, figuring that in spite of the jeans and t-shirt she wore, her weekend attire, it would be obvious now that it was, in fact, her.

"Okay, so you can see that she i___s_. She's not a bloody tyrant, and she's not deaf either. Bugger off if you don't have anything to do."

"We're trying to find a book for Potions—"

"—And it's not here, so bugger off anyway."

There were footsteps and then Higgs emerging from the shelves. "Sorry about that. They're literally the biggest gossips in my house. They probably didn't think you could possibly be here, which is really stupid because everyone knows you're always studying in the library. Hey, whoa—" His friendly mood was cut short at her suddenly getting up from her chair and grabbing her things. "What's wrong?"

"I'm heading out early."

"Hey, no. You should stay. Is it because of those girls? They're third years—they're ___only _known for gossiping."

"That's not it. I've had a headache all day…and um, just...want to have a lie-in before I begin patrols." She was a terrible liar, but if she didn't look him in the eye, he wouldn't have to know that. "Good luck on your tryouts."

* * *

It was late when he and Hermione finally finished patrols, shelling out a warning to a group of fourth-years loitering outside an empty classroom and helping a first-year Hufflepuff who was unable to remember her password and was close to tears when they had arrived.

The whole affair had been silent as per the case of their patrols. But while usually accepting and stoic about the duty, it was obvious that she was grateful when they had reached the door to the Heads Quarters and Antoinette had let them inside, the painting keeping the small talk to its very minimum. She threw off her robes without preamble, her body practically melting onto the cushion and her head resting on the back of the chair. She gathered her robes and rested them on her lap to take off her badge.

He stood at the foot of the entrance, trying to decide what to do. "Are you tired?" Blaise asked.

"...A little."

"Will you be retiring to your room?"

Her brown eyes lifted to stare at him. She was as beautiful as ever, the fringe of her eyelashes, the glow of the tan that still lingered on her skin, the curves of her body from her shoulder to her hip. "Not yet." She began to play with her Head Badge, her fingers opening and closing the clasp.

"...May I join you?"

She wriggled to either give him as much room as she thought he needed or to keep a gap between them. Blaise took off his own robe and tossed on the arm of one of the other chairs before sitting down beside her, his arms resting on the back of the couch, his body loose and relaxed. They hadn't been on this couch since the day she had arrived and he fought to keep his face neutral at the memory of them together. He wondered if she was thinking about it too.

"Hermione," her name from his lips was both an exhalation and an opening statement, "I feel like there is something on your mind. And that it concerns me and…___things._"

She sat up a little more, as if preparing herself for something. But she wasn't nervous and biting her lip, which was good. "The news about the raid."

He got out of his current, relaxed position and turned to face her. "...I know my house automatically makes me susceptible to scrutiny. And I can accept that from everyone else in this school because I don't care what they think. But because of our...your opinion matters most. So…if you have a question, please. Ask me."

This was him, opening himself to her and bringing light to the elephant in the room.

Her hands dropped her badge. "…Blaise, where did you stand during the war?"

"I was neutral. While I can admit I didn't really want Death Eaters taking over the British Wizarding government or my own, I wasn't exactly rejoicing when you and your friends won. I was only happy that you were safe."

"So, us being…what we are...didn't change your mind about picking a side...Does it change any feelings about me and my...blood?"

"Not in the sense that I dropped any ingrained Pureblood ideals against someone like you...I don't have any. I can admit I haven't had to interact with a lot of Muggle-borns in my past, but I'm not like some of my old classmates. And I don't think that the topic is something that should be considered in black-and-white; you don't have to be Pureblooded or a former Slytherin student to utter an Unforgivable Curse."

She didn't speak.

His hand raked through his hair as he spied his own Head Boy badge catch a lantern light in the corner of his eye. "I know that may be a little impossible to beli—"

She shook her head. "—It's not impossible...I believe you."

The room was silent for a few moments.

"...I'm sorry if I have been acting strange."

"I figured the news weighed heavily on your mind."

Hermione's head shook slowly. "It's not just that. It's just…Maybe I've only been looking at it in terms of our houses. I don't really know you and I don't think you really know me. Maybe me as part of 'The Golden Trio' or the 'smart girl', but not me as 'Hermione.'"

He gave a small smile at her nicknames and realized that this was her not turning him away or having that barrier she had been holding up since before the year had started.

He sobered up, feeling the importance of the moment. "But I do want to; it's so easy for us to. It's not like there is someone to stop us, not here," he gestured to the empty room, "...or anywhere. ...You are responsible for that..." he itched to grab her hand, but it was too early for what he was proposing; too awkward for the moment, "I want us to begin to be...friends. So why don't we just…get to know each other?"

She looked over at him. "…Okay."

* * *

"...But for now, they're refusing to let me know if they're connected to a larger movement. In any case, I'm sending Aurors throughout the country to monitor the activities there."

"That's all you know?" Harry said to Shacklebolt, or rather, the image of Shacklebolt's head projected in the fire. "That's not a lot."

It was early Monday morning, which was perfect because it meant that no one else was awake in the tower. And in the event someone was, the seventeen-year-old had placed enough illusions and silencing spells to be safe. And the Floo connection that had been set up on Shacklebolt's side was secure.

"Tell me about it," the older man half-chuckled. "My biggest worry is that someone else will try to step in where the last left off."

A momentary reprieve in conversation occurred, set off by the fact that both men, young and old, were tired. "Do you think that it's possible, that they'd mobilize so quickly?"

"...Even though many of Voldemort's officers died or, in the case of Lucius Malfoy, are otherwise detained, I almost expect it. And I say 'almost' because I know that many Pureblood families were just as happy as the rest of us at the news of the death. Of course, there are always the devout. And while many of the devout didn't know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wasn't Pureblooded, I'm sure the ones who ___did _weren't exactly thrilled about it. It may have been a case of fear at being killed that kept them complacent. Now that he's dead, anyone else who wants to stand as leader only has to declare the past leader's falsehood and his own blood purity to gain followers."

Harry nodded in agreement, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "So what should we do?"

"...Harry...I appreciate your dedication to this, but I have to say that I'm...I believe it is important that you separate yourself from this for now. You've done what...Albus, God rest his soul, believed you were to do. But the nature of this isn't simply The Order versus The Death Eaters, but rather ___The Ministry _versus The Death Eaters. You're young and still a student; your focus should be on your studies and having a normal final year before it's over."

"I understand...it's just weird not having to know."

"___I_ understand, but—"

Harry nodded. "—You're right."

"...I can expect you'll tell your friends, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, the same?"

"They don't know that I set this up with you, only that I was thinking about it. They did a lot for me. They didn't need to know about this, not after doing so much for me."

Shacklebolt laughed at the irony in Harry's words. "Again, as do you. So go off to bed and have a normal year."

"Right. Okay."

"I'm sure regardless of what happens, if your skills are still the same, if not better, there'll be something for you and your talents here after graduation." Shacklebolt nodded as if he was completely certain of that fact.

* * *

_Chapter 4! (Every new chapter is a celebration.) The Gryffindor vs. Slytherin vein thus far has been a pretty good idea to start with, but I don't want you all to have to read "Hermione is a Gryffindor; Blaise is a Slytherin" each and every chapter, so hopefully this chapter opens the fanfic up to new elements._

_R&R_


	5. Chapter 5

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

Terminology/ Translation(s)

-culurgiones: a version of ravioli, yet stuffed with potatoes as opposed to meat; very popular in the Sardinia, Italy

-mash: English slang term for "mashed potatoes"

_-sensazione di bottigila_: Italian; "bottled feeling"

_(Sources: GoogleTranslate; Google; Wikipedia)_

* * *

"Higgs!" Hermione, Charms textbook and notebook close to her chest, was navigating through the sea of students trying to fight their way to classes, en route to the sandy blonde. She almost thought he hadn't heard her above all the other sounds echoing off the walls, but he had paused in his journey and turned back to spy her coming towards him. He said a few parting words to his friends and waited, trying to avoid or not be bothered by getting slammed into passerby like she was. His school robes were draped over his shoulder again, the result of the last days before the early autumn wind came in. His tie was about the only indicator of his house.

"Granger," he said amicably, "feeling better?"

The puckered skin between his eyebrows made her proceed with caution; she couldn't tell if he was angry or not. "Yeah. Um, how was your tryout?" She was trying to be friendly.

"It's not until tomorrow."

"Oh." A sigh escaped from her pink, lightly-glossed mouth. She was giving up on the pleasantries. "Listen, I'm sorry about the other night...Thanks for—"

"Yeah. No problem." The skepticism on his face fell and he watched as she avoided a group of Ravenclaw fifth-years. "...Really, you shouldn't take those girls seriously."

"I know, and I usually wouldn't... I just...had a lot on my mind."

He nodded to show that he understood. "But you're better now?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. But if you need more time to sort through things, you'll have it. I was gonna send you an owl to tell you I gotta take a raincheck on meeting until Wednesday night. Last minute practice tonight; tryouts tomorrow."

"Oh. Good luck."

He gave a slight smile. "Thanks. I mean...Urquhart is my bunkmate. And the only ones trying out for Seeker are underclassmen. It's in the bag."

Her eyebrow rose at his bravado. "So, why so much work if you already have the position?"

"Just to let anybody else trying to get the spot that I'm better. Quidditch thing. Or maybe it's a Slytherin thing." He shrugged and smiled again. "When a Malfoy-type takes your spot in second-year through his daddy's money and a bunch of new brooms, and you have the chance to get it back five years later, you go for intimidation. Plus, there's this rule Hooch set up this past summer about nepotism."

The brunette didn't have anything to say so she stayed silent, just nodded; unlike her studies, the amount of the things she knew about Quidditch were limited to only what Harry and Ron did. She couldn't pretend that her knowledge about the game's rules and fun facts (catching The Snitch meant you won; Chasers guard the posts) could fill more than a thimble. Absently, she noted that the hallway was emptying of students. "...I have to go. See you Wednesday."

He gave her one last look at her retreating figure before going to his next class or wherever he was going, making an off-hand wave in parting.

* * *

"What is...your favorite food?"

Hermione eyes lifted from her Charms assignment and paused to think. She knew the pregnant pause in the air was him hanging on her words, but she couldn't help smiling as she thought of her answer.

She spied him placing his quill down. "Do you not know?" Blaise's voice was teasing now.

"You're not using this to procrastinate are you?" Her voice was light-hearted in its accusation.

He smiled. "No no. I'm almost done and I'm sure there are plenty to mistakes for you to help me with. But it ___is _my turn to ask you a question."

"Did I agree to that?" She put her own quill down.

"No; I decided to make it a rule just now."

It had been three weeks since their...understanding...talk...something. And with it and the start of the Quidditch season, the time she missed out on seeing her best friends or having obligatory group meetings for Ancient Runes meant that she could stay in her common room more often to study. Which, in turn, had led to more conversations with Blai...Zabini.

They had started easily enough: the first night studying and witnessing him constantly alternating between writing his Potions essay and walking around the room had caused to her, distracted if not a bit exasperated, to inquire about his classes and learn (embarrassingly) that he was second in their year, about the only thing standing in between him and first position being her (not that he had complained or joked about a rivalry between them). But it had become an actual moment used to pass the time between them the next night, when after agreeing to help him with what he considered his terrible English grammar, he had asked about her classes. Somehow, they had spent much of the night discussing their teachers and their workloads.

She finally looked at him. "I don't have a favorite food...I have a favorite meal."

His eyes sparkled with this fact. "Okay. Tell me."

"It's this meal my father likes to make for special occasions. I think it's the only real meal he can make actually. Lamb chops with peas, mash, and gravy. And then my mum makes bread pudding for dessert."

"That sounds...really good, actually." He stretched. "I think you've made me hungry again."

She smiled and tried to get back to her work, accustomed to the brief reprieves of silence between them. Hermione could never tell what the swarthy Italian was thinking about in those moments, but she realized from their last conversation—when they, at his request, first talked about their first time using magic accidentally—that she found that she did enjoy talking to him. That it was surprisingly...easy.

Now she was closer to him than she had been for the last six years—___in____proximity_, her mind took note to add—she realized that in spite of her earlier opinions of him, there was more to the quarter-Veela than what she had perceived.

His studying habits. It was now obvious to Hermione that he was dedicated to his classes and his work; he sat the table poring over his books and homework for about as long as she did: elbow on table; head propped on fist; blue eyes running from left to right of his texts and parchment; only shifting when he wanted to make a note in the margins.

But he also had a level of procrastination that seemed to want to rival Ron's, something she hadn't thought was possible. In spite the fact that Slytherin being paired with Hufflepuff this year meant his assignments were now due a week before hers, he had a thing for waiting at least two days before getting started, regardless of how much the work required or his schedule the next day. Sometimes he was still working even after she went to sleep for the night. And there were moments when he had to walk away from the work and walk around the perimeter of the room or, once, to the kitchens for coffee. He claimed that this usually helped clear his head.

But she figured it worked for him because after the first time helping him edit for Potions, she found that his essays were good...___brilliant_, actually. They were composed from the idea of taking a combination of lessons from learned from past classes and other courses, and his professors seemed to be as impressed with his work as she was, because he tended to have high marks to prove it (in fact, if he ever decided to be timely about his assignments, he would likely surpass her).

She knew that their situation was completely different than usual, but she could safely say that she now understood how so many of her classmates could be so attracted to him...

"What's yours?"

"Curlurgiones. It's like ravioli, but stuffed with potatoes instead of meat, although the recipe I've had has mint in it as well. I eat it whenever I go back home. When I returned for the holidays my first year, I made sure it was served at dinner for a week straight. I was told afterward that if I liked it so much, I needed to learn how to make it from the house elves." He gave a boyish smirk at the memory and Hermione couldn't help but match it.

This was another thing she noticed: the way he acted. His preference to be neutral to many of the in-school rivalries did make him actively stay behind-the-scenes and avoid talking with most of their classmates, save for Greengrass—___and you, of course_, her mind seemed hell-bent on reminding her_—_but, there was a...charm about him. The best way the Head Girl could describe it was a cross between some Pureblooded lessons in formality she imagined half the Slytherins went through in childhood and his own penchant to actually not take himself too seriously. The way his eyes sparkled, his boyish expressions, the way his hand raked through his thick black hair. His laugh was deep and good-natured and his stories always held a bit of humor to them. Even when spying him walking around their common room or out of The Great Hall, she was entranced with his assured, but not arrogant, gait, nonchalant comfort in his wrinkle-free uniform, and his frequent carrying of classroom texts for reading.

"Have you ever had some before?" He was taking a break now as he began to stand and stretch his arms towards the ceiling.

She suddenly realized that she hadn't actually been working or acting...___normal _during that lapse of silence. "No."

"No? Never?" She shook her head. "Then I'll have to make it for you one day. A big plate of it and my family's wine."

"Wait. Your family makes wine?"

He looked at her, surprised. "I'm sorry...I've figured most of the school knows, so I don't mention it too often. We own three vineyards and make wines, champagnes, Merlot, chardonnay—just about any kind of alcohol made from grapes. But our staple is our red wine. Well, red wine and ___sensazione di bottigila_—'bottled feeling.'"

She couldn't pretend that she wasn't interested now, the bookworm in her invested in learning something new. "How do you bottle a feeling?"

"I can't tell you the secret of how my family is able to do it, but I can say that sensazione di bottiglia holds magic infused with a clear, strong emotion." He made his way to sit down at the table once more, taking up the seat beside her and grabbing a sheet of parchment and quill from his table. "It stems from an early idea that the strength of a person's own magical ability is dependent on the emotion put forth when magic and spells are performed." In a few sweeping gestures, he made a stick figure with a swirl where its stomach was assumed to be and arrows pointing away from its body. "An ancestor of mine actually developed this idea to explain how wandless magic is performed..."

Hermione watched Zabini as he continued, as interested in him than as she was in his explanation. Usually, it could be just the words that captured her attention, but this time, it seemed like she couldn't pull her eyes away from him. His eyes were expressive as they ran over the parchment and his voice toed the boarder between English and Italian, talking faster as his explanation lengthened...and she couldn't pull her eyes away from the fullness of his lips. Some part of her was reminded of all those conversations she had overheard from Lavender and Patil and almost every other girl in the school, the same old ranking system of guys in the school, and realized that it was really true: He was...handsome.

No. It was the first word to come to her mind because it was the easiest way of saying it without detail into the thought, but somehow, it didn't embody what he really was...

"...It's easy to explain, but hard to perform. In any case, my family develops sensazione and adds it our wine or ships bottles of it for businesses and people to use as they please. If you've ever had a Butterbeer, then you've had a drink infused with happiness; I believe Madam Rosemerta gets her shipments from us actually. But there are several other kinds we make: calm, satisfaction, excitement...lust..." He suddenly looked up at her to see if was listening, his face going from optimism to...something else.

Hermione felt her face get warm at getting caught. That was when she realized that while she had stopped fully listening to him, but she hadn't stopped staring at him through his explanation. In fact, she doubted that if he were to ask her a question, she, for once in her life, wouldn't have been able to give a satisfying answer. There was no way she could play it off, but her mind reeled through any possible excuse she could think of anyway.

"Oh. Um...it sounds really good."

He gave her a small smirk and nodded, his throat making a small hum of agreement. It was so funny how just a simple thing let her know that he wasn't buying her act. "I'm glad that you're interested in it. And one day, I'll make sure you have some with the dinner I'll make you." His voice was still thick with his accent and she felt as if he was really ___really _close to her ear. "Maybe it'll become your favorite meal, too."

He really wasn't just handsome—he was...___sexy?_

Her blush grew.

He stood and stretched once more, walking to his room for the moment and leaving her pink-faced as she realized that that was likely the word she had been looking for.

* * *

**"SWEEPS FOR FUGITIVE DEATH EATERS BEGIN IN COMMON WIZARDING PLACES"**

* * *

Blaise had reached a certain mind-block in his latest letter to his mother.

"...I know you worry about the Mark..."

He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to remind her of the one thing she was hesitant about, because to even mention it would raise the possibility of her worrying to the point that she'd feel she had to step in somehow and make things better; he didn't want his actions being dictated. Not to mention in thinking about it, some of his own worries were brought up. Of course it was likely he shared the same worries as her, but his focused more on what could happen before, the catalyst that could affect events: that someone from either of their houses could find out that the two of them were together and blow it out of proportion; that Potter and Weasley could find out somehow and make their feelings known, that Hermione could be swayed by them to—

But she was getting close to him. She was starting to become...attracted...to him. It was nothing that she was saying outright, but it was almost as if the Veela side of him could sense it regardless of if she was verbal or not. And there were other little ways...like the moment that had inspired him to begin writing the letter in the first place.

"___Good night, Hermione."_

"___Sleep well...Blaise."_

He wasn't exactly sure when something as small as her saying his name would be enough for him to be happy, but of course, he was well familiar with the knowledge that anything Hermione did, anything at all, could make him feel like he was floating atop the earth itself. It was all he could do to keep from letting her know just one more time that he loved her, that for his calm mien, it was barely enough to restrain himself from saying it over and over. But, in spite his yearning to tell her so and for her to tell him the same, he settled on the next best thing for the moment: he kissed her on the cheek.

"___Thank you."_

"...but, at this present time, I have faith in the strength of it.

"To turn to other matters, I would like to ask you to send me three bottles of red wine with your reply. If some of the bottles we made and saved at the beginning of this summer are still in our cellar, please send those. If not, two bottles of dessert wine will be fine, but I would prefer..."

* * *

_I feel like the ball is beginning to roll a bit more for BlaisexHermione. Since the last chapter, I really wanted to show them being able to get closer, plus have Hermione's feelings grow a little bit. I kinda think it's funny that I made her start being more attractive to Blaise by watching him study. The idea of sensazione di bottigila is just a different way of explaining how Blaise's family is so prominent because I feel like while you know that he's from a prominent family, but you're not exactly sure why._

_My use of mash and sensazione di bottigila respectively stem from research into English foods and a few keystrokes on Google Translate. If these are incorrect, I can change them, but know that I'm not just going around making things up and that I apologize if the use of Italian is wrong. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

Terminology/Translation(s):

1) Dionysus: The Greek god of Wine and son of Zeus and Semele. Dionysus was considered the Liberator, whose wine, music and ecstatic dance freed his followers, from self-conscious fear and care, and subverted the oppressive restraints of the powerful.

_2) __fragile_: the Italian pronunciation is implied

_3) ____Sì, per favore_: (Italian) "Yes, please."

_(Sources: GoogleTranslate; Wikipedia)_

* * *

******"HOGSMEADE DECLARED SAFE FOR CITIZENS AND VISITORS"**

* * *

******"CONFIDENCE IN MINISTRY OF MAGIC SEES LITTLE RISE AS SWEEPS CONTINUE"**

******"Our latest poll shows that many are still hesitant to give their confidence over to the Ministry of Magic, the number rising only slightly from 34% to 36.2%. This is despite rumors of initiatives set by Ministry officials to increase the number and frequency of sweeps throughout Wizarding Britain.**

******While Rufus Scrimgeour returned to his position as Minister of Magic with relative ease two weeks ago, and voiced his dedication to seeing the Ministry back on its feet, many individuals have their doubts about his and the Ministry's capability in ending coups that may rise from any fugitive Death Eaters..."**

* * *

"Grade: N

"I am very impressed with your attention to detail as well as your use of modern terminology for ease of reading. Very good job on the text and a good start of the course this year.

"Enjoy your weekend!

"—V"

* * *

Hermione polished off the rest of her Butterbeer, the thought of her actually being able to drink happiness making its way to the forefront of the mind. She didn't know how much the butterscotch-colored liquid had to do with it exactly, but the seventh-year was feeling pretty happy right now.

Dinner Wednesday night had come with McGonagall's special announcement of Hogsmeade being open to all students in its first weekend, a special occasion since the declaration of Hogsmeade being safe from Death Eaters. Most of the day had been spent with friends, catching up on small talk and bemoaning the expected overhaul of Quidditch practices and class assignments before their first game (of course, it was mostly everybody else who complained; Hermione was fine as always). After time in practically every shop in the village and purchasing enough items to last her until the next Hogsmeade weekend, they had all decided to settle in a booth at The Three Broomsticks, Butterbeers in hand, despite the warm day. But as a wave of students passed by the front window en route to the school, most of the group she had been sitting with dispersed, Harry and Ginny being the last two to leave before it was just her and Ron.

But now, she felt a bit restless. She thought she had seen a lot of Slytherins about today, even Daphne Greengrass immersed in a group made up of her female classmates and walking around with many different colored and sized bags in hand, but she hadn't happened upon the one she had been hoping to see. Not that she was ___looking _for him exactly...it's just...she hadn't known if he was planning to come to Hogsmeade. But it seemed weird that he wouldn't; everyone had been excited at the news...but he ___did _like to be alone. But that could always mean that he was walking around by himself...

___So what are you going to do? Walk around Hogsmeade until you 'accidentally' bump into him and talk about the ____drink____you just had?_

"What do you want to do now?" The redhead asked, wiping some Butterbeer foam from his top lip with the the cuff of his flannel shirt. He was a little less than halfway done with his mug.

"I think I'm going to head back. Maybe have a nap or read a little before dinner." She eyed her bags before pulling out her wand and shrinking them to fit her pocket. "You?"

"I'm in-between going back and walking around some more. You should hang out more—I've only see you in class or in the Great Hall. It's probably the last warm weekend until next year; even ___you _can hold back on a nap or Ancient Runes for awhile."

"I know and usually I would, but I still really want to have a lie-in. ...I'll try to make sure to visit Gryffindor before I start my patrol tonight." She grabbed her bags and inched out the booth.

Ron sat back with resignation. "Okay. See you then." His hand lifted slightly in parting as she placed her money down on the table and walked out, trying to figure out if she was really going to go back.

"Hermione."

A bunch of butterflies in her stomach fluttered as she heard her name being called.

The decision had been made in her favor.

She looked over to see Blaise, put-together as well as ever in his seersucker shirt and jeans, those blue eyes of his focused on her. There was a box in his arms.

"Hi." Her feet had already begun to walk towards him; she was already smiling. "I didn't know you were coming here today. I thought I'd only see you at...at night..."

___He leaned in close, really close, the hand that held hers grasping just a bit tighter and his free one caressing her cheek. His fingers traced the curve of her jawline until reaching her chin, his thumb lightly pressing on her bottom lip. She realized that by the time she was ready to wait for the feel of his lips on her cheek, it had already come and gone. A tiny bit of the want ("want" in knowing exactly what she had done to make him kiss her? "want" for him to kiss her cheek again?..."want" for him to ____not __just____ kiss her cheek?) gathered in her mind and body left her lips in a small puff of breath._

___"...Good night, Hermione."_

"Are you going back inside?"

He glanced at the pub's door and its cracked and peeling. "No. I was just walking around the square when I happened upon the post office and decided to go in. It seems I've finally received the delivery I've been expecting for the last week." He shifted the box underarm, careful not to disturb its apparently ******"Fragile" **contents. "But now, I get to see you." His eyes lingered for a moment over her outfit, her white pants, red-gingham shirt, and matching shoes.

She blushed. "What's in the box?"

It was his turn to grin. "Zabini family wine. Would you like to see?" He lifted its lid and after sifting through a sea of paper strips, pulled out one black-colored and teardrop-shaped bottle with a large "Z" on the front label, a ribbon tied around its neck. At his beckoning, she clasped the bottle in her hands. Her brown eyes watched curiously as the letter dispersed into a cluster of red grapes that began to shake and drop from the vine. As each reached the bottom of the paper, they began to form the label, its name spread across its front.

"'Dioniso'?"

"Dionysus," Blaise translated.

"The Greek god of Wine?"

"Yes. My great-grandfather believed it was an appropriate name for a wine with happiness added to it. I asked for these to be sent so that I may present them to the Headmistress and Madam Pomfrey in return for their care."

She blinked. It seemed that her first thoughts about coming to the castle early and misery about being his...

"I think it would be best to give it with a sort of gift, but I don't know what I could give them. In her letter, my mother made the suggestion of a thank you card, but I feel like that not entirely appropriate considering everything they did...I won't say I've gone back and forth on the issue this entire time, but I can't think of anything specific."

"You could always give them something to go with the wine itself. Food?"

"Maybe cheese? Like a Frenchman?" His forehead furrowed slightly, not liking the idea.

She laughed. "You don't have to give it with cheese...Wine tastes good with some kind of dessert. Chocolate?"

He gave her a look as if she had given him an epiphany, those eyes of his widening slightly in surprise. "So I should go to Honeydukes before we're called back to the castle?" He looked at the store located far off from where they were standing. He turned to her once more. "I feel like you know them better than I do...Will you join me? Help me find the type of chocolate perfect for the two of them—please."

All thoughts of returning back to the castle suddenly left her mind.

"Sure."

* * *

Ginny turned away from her boyfriend to her older brother. He was quiet, and even though she knew him enough to know that he was capable of being silent, it wasn't something that happened all too often. And he wasn't fuming about them sitting close together like he usually did, nor had he actually walked over to physically pull them apart like he had earlier today.

She lifted her head from Harry's broad shoulder. "What's wrong with you?"

Ron pulled himself from staring out in space and looked over at his sister and best mate. "I'm just thinking."

"I'll make sure it makes front-page news in the ___Prophet _tomorrow," the his sister countered dryly. "What about."

"Hermione." At their expectant looks, he continued. "...You know, Harry and me've barely seen her this quarter and, we were still having fun together after you guys left Broomsticks. So, I was trying to see if she wanted to hang out more. But she said she was going back to her room to have a lie-in."

"Okay. That doesn't sound weird for 'Mione." Harry said.

"Yeah, I know. What was weird was even though she had left earlier, when I saw her, she was still in Hogsmeade. Talking to Zabini of all people."

Gin gave him the reaction he might have been looking for, a raised eyebrow, but it wasn't for the reason he may have wanted. "They ___do _work together as Head Boy and Head Girl. And Zabini's not a bad bloke—you even said so."

"I know. I know what I said." He shifted in his seat, sitting upright to make a point. "It's just—they looked weird. ___She _looked weird. I mean, her back was to me mostly, and I could only see the side of her face, but she was...smiling."

Harry tried not to look at his best friend like he was crazy. "Ron. Hermione ___does _smile."

"Not like a regular smile—like a...___girl _smile."

Ginny's eyes narrowed at the word choice.

"How could you tell if her face was turned from you?" Harry questioned.

"You know what I mean! Gin, you've seen Hermione the most since Quidditch season started. You haven't seen her with Zabini or acting weird towards him? Like, ___smiling _at him."

"You mean besides the fact that they're both Head Boy and Head Girl and Hermione likes smiling like we've said? Honestly. You seeing her smile at Blaise Zabini isn't weird—it's Blaise Zabini. It's almost impossible for any girl ___not _to act that way. I saw him apologize for accidentally bumping into Millicent Bulstrode once—I don't think I've ___ever _seen her act girly, but even ___she _smiled like a goof after he walked away." Ginny smiled as Harry subconsciously pulled her a little closer to him, a little jealous at the track of her conversation.

Ron sighed in frustration. "It's not just that. It had been a pretty long time when I left The Three Broomsticks and she was still there. And even though she told me she was tired, after they were finished talking, they headed off to Honeydukes together. Close together, like how you two walk now." Ron suddenly looked somewhat disgusted at the closeness he had finally noticed. "And sit together—bloody Hell. Gin, ger'off him." It was still a little much to take in from time to time.

Ginny inched away ever so slightly, enough for him to see the upholstery they were resting on—that usually shut him up. "So what...are you saying that you think that Hermione has a crush or that they're dating or something? ...Or are you trying to find something to explain why she told you she thought of you only as a friend?"

His face, which had been tight with contemplation, immediately became incredulous at her words. He directed his glance over at Harry accusingly.

The black-haired boy lifted his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't look at me. I didn't say anything to her."

"You kept moping that week she went to school early. And once when you were outside talking to Harry—fuming—you said something about it. And I ___wasn't _eavesdropping; you were right under my window. I figured you still had a crush on her even now."

"Gin. No, I don't have a crush on her still. It's just—never mind. Forget it." He went to pressing his back against his chair again, his arms rest on their arms, and his fingers pressing together in a bridge. The sour, brooding look on his freckled face didn't go away.

Either way, the redhead girl shrugged. Forgetting weird things her brothers said from time to time was never that hard.

* * *

Blaise wasn't exactly sure that Hermione was aware of what she was doing to him.

He and the brunette had returned from Honeydukes and Hogsmeade, his wine and purchases in tow—the milk and dark chocolate bars for Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall respectively, and the sweets he had bought for them: sugar quills (her favorite), Shoc-o-chocs (his), and more chocolate bars to split between them. Over the last hour and a half, they had eaten their way through her quills and most of the bars, his treat left for last after he had spent most of his time in the candy shop talking about it. And he had realized something:

Hermione was...sitting ___close _to him. Not 'close' in the simple sense that she was 'nearby' because since they had begun spending time together, they usually sat together on the couch, her favorite spot being the right nook between the back cushion and arm, and his being the median between the cushions themselves. But ___close _in the sense that even though they had made it a point to stick to leaving enough of a comfortable gap of space between them, ___she _had crossed that space and brought herself—her body, her voice and laughter, that amazing scent of vanilla and blackberries and...___Hermione—_close to him for him to experience at full volume.

It felt like every hair on his arm rose when she placed the last piece of chocolate she had broke into his palm. Her hand was smaller, almost pale-looking, and perfect in his larger, rougher, and olive-skinned one. His hand closed around hers before he could consciously stop it and for a moment, they sat there, just like that, until he opened it and her hand left his grasp.

___Slowly._

Some part of Blaise—he knew which—recognized that something was different about this moment. That the chance he had been waiting for was happening in this moment.

And she, his mate, never widened the space between them. She only leaned towards the coffee table for the Shoc-o-choc package, her thigh brushing against his. He still couldn't tell if everything she was doing was on purpose. "Do you want me to open yours?"

"___Sì, per favore._" The language that had been repeating another thought altogether in his head slipped out thickly. He was glad he didn't have to translate anything to her as she went through the motions of unwrapping the candy from its gold wrapping. She placed the piece in his hands and he felt the same distinct feeling from before spread throughout his body.

Her fingertips brushed against his palm, and the very air in the entire room changed when the part of him realized that something was different about her too. That...the same feeling he was going through was happening to her. That it was about as strong as his own, to the point that he could name it: yearning.

For him. Blaise.

The guy whom she, less than two months ago, had been so adverse to learning she was mated to for life that she could barely bring herself to be in the same room as him.

The guy whom she was now practically pressed to, breaking off chunks of chocolate and giving him some as opposed to letting him do it himself.

It was driving him a bit mad to pretend to be normal.

He bit off a huge chunk of his chocolate and was aware of the shock in his mouth, but didn't feel the electricity he expected. He did, however, feel the jump of the girl beside him in pain. "Ow!"

He turned to see her blinking wildly in surprise and discomfort, that feeling and change in the atmosphere that had been in the air thirty seconds earlier dissipating slightly. In between his senses peaking, he was somehow cognizant of what had happened to her. The chocolate. "Have you ever had this before?" She shook her head, a few tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "It's just the way it's made; it can hurt a bit if you're not used to it." His hands reached up to tenderly cup her face, his thumb gently rubbing her cheek. "It's okay. Your mouth is going to feel numb for only a moment." His thumb continued rubbing in tiny circles, getting closer and closer to her mouth until it and his eyes rested on her lips. The lips he wanted to feel on his, the bottom lip he didn't have a problem imagining sucking and pulling on...

"...Blaise."

His blue eyes lazily looked at her brown orbs. The want, the same kind he remembered feeling almost eight weeks ago on the same couch, rushed through his entire body all at once. And her yearning, minus the fear that had accompanied it the first time, rose in full bloom. He could tell. That bottom lip of hers was being teased by her teeth again and he could feel her nervousness now.

She was nervous when she had absolutely no need to be.

He knew exactly what he was going to do to her and ___for _her to end her ___yearning._

Blaise didn't exactly give any forethought when he pressed his lips against hers, branding them, or his tongue coaxing her mouth open. But that was only because in what felt like an decade later, yet might actually have been a few seconds, she reacted to what he was trying to make her do and parted those lips of hers. His tongue slipped in her mouth for a moment, and he tasted the chocolate once more, the electric effect it completely gone. His fingers moved from her face to her collarbone and shoulder and those curls he loved so much.

One of his fingertips pressed against that spot where he had marked her and she gasped. Another wave of her pleasure made itself known and he liked it. He wanted more of her doing that, of her learning that he was the one capable making her feel like that. That he could make her feel like this anytime she wanted. And that he wanted to do it all the time.

He sucked and pulled at that bottom lip, touched her Mark again. She arched her back, letting his arm wrap around her waist. Her arm reached around his neck and her hand gathered—more like clenched—the fabric of his shirt, her palm pressing unto his shoulder like he was her lifeline.

Again, and she gave a little moan. She inched towards him, almost climbing into his lap where his blood was starting to pool.

Once more, and he felt her hands in his hair. He couldn't handle it anymore. His arms scooped her up and pushed her back into that nook she was almost never going to be allowed to sit in anymore, and he continued at the threshold they had reached.

He kissed her again and pressed his palms on her knees. He neared closer when her hands tugged at the front of his shirt, his own sliding up her thighs and finding their way to the small of her back. She gave a few more moans as his lips left hers wanting and swollen, and kissed down her neck. His mouth touched her Mark once more and her legs parted wide enough for him to put only a few inches between them. He felt her breasts press against his chest as he neared.

"Blaise," she moaned again.

He didn't want her to stop.

* * *

___R&R and wait for what's coming next._


	7. Chapter 7

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated T

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

"I know you haven't made your mind up yet,

but I would never do you wrong.

I've know it from the moment that we met,

no doubt in my mind where you belong..."

"Make You Feel My Love" -Adele, _18_

* * *

******"TRIALS AGAINST DEATH EATERS SET TO BEGIN MONDAY"**

* * *

___"What was that?" _That what was Daphne had said when she had spied the two of them, Granger and Blaise, smiling at each other about two weeks ago. Her finger was pointing at him and Granger's retreating back in confusion. The seventh-year Gryffindor had been walking into the library with the Weasley sister, who seemed so wrapped up in whatever she was on about that she hadn't seen anything; Blaise had been leaning against the side of the library entrance, waiting for her to finish delivering the letter she had for those Ravenclaws.

He had stopped leaning on the wall and began walking down the hall, en route to Slytherin House to help her study. ___"We're Head Boy and Head Girl—it __is____ i____mportant that we get along..."_That was Blaise explaining himself at being caught being nice, not necessarily on feelings or a crush. She hadn't been able to tell if he was nervous; the Italian had a poker face that rivaled her grandfather's. ___"...She __is ____nice," _he had said to Daphne's offering of her opinion on Hermione's character, ___"and has been helping me improve writing my papers and essays for class. Grammar and such."_

___"But Blaise, you usually don't have problems with your grammar or your papers; it's usually me asking you for help."_

___"...You know that improving in my studies are important to me. Hermione is the smartest person in the entire school; I couldn't ask for anyone else better to help me. Especially when you consider most of the students in our house."_

___"That's true...Wait waitwaitwait—Her-MI-one, huh?" _She had replied coyly.

He had stopped walking then and she could have sworn that she saw him blushing or something, but she had been pretty sure that she was just seeing wrong. He just sighed and gave her the look that said he was going to explain something to her like he would a child. He did this a lot.

___"Now that the war is over, calling other people by their names shouldn't be such a taboo thing. She and I perform Head duties together and she helps me with my work. I shouldn't act like I'm unable to call her by her ____name, right?"_

___She didn't say anything; that usually meant that he was right._

___"Are you going to try to tease me about calling Hermione Granger by her first name, or are you going to tell me what happened when you handed those two sixth-years the letter?"_

That was the end of that; she wasn't really someone who gave up talking about the jinxes she gave.

At least, that she ___thought _that was the end of that until just now when she suddenly realized that every time she looked up from peeling her orange, The Head Girl was looking over at her...or rather, she finally realized, the empty chair beside her.

Of course Daphne had been wondering exactly where Blaise was, but had concluded that he might have either been in the library, trying to do more research for an assignment (completely possible for him; the end of the semester was close and Blaise's slacker nature was known for always being a bit overwhelmed with the increase of school work around this time), or was sick and wasn't going to be in classes for the day. But with Weasley approaching her the other day and ___this_, she had reason to believe that she was missing something.

Her lips licked any reminiscent taste of oranges and she began to collect her books.

Probably.

* * *

Hermione was happy that she had caught Professor McGonagall just as she was leaving her office. She had been willing to wait for her to come out, but this made it easier to act on the thought that had suddenly struck her when she finally realized that breakfast was almost over and Blaise wasn't coming into the Great Hall.

"Miss Granger...Good morning."

"Good morning. May I speak with you for a moment? About...things?"

The older woman's eyebrows rose at the word choice. "Of course...would you rather it take place in a more private area? I must warn you I can only speak for a moment."

The seventeen-year-old looked around the deserted hallway, trying to think about how soon it would be before it became full of students en route to their first class of the day. Her teeth bit into her lip, peeling away at the chapped skin. Wordlessly, the headmistress opened up the door and the two stepped inside, but not going up the steps. Apparently, this was as far as the educator was willing to go.

It'd have to do. With a deep sigh, Hermione practically blurted out, "I was hoping you knew of any book...or books about Veelas in the Restricted Section...and if I could have access to it...or them."

McGonagall's eyebrow raised. "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

___"...You were comfortable enough the first night to allow me to Mark you...it's one way of me telling you that I love you. But you're uncomfortable with me saying the words themselves?"_

"Most of the books I've found in the library keep saying the same thing." She was about to say more, but decided not to at the last minute, her teeth closing together with a slight ___clack_. There were a million ways everything she had just uttered could have blown up in her face—it was better not to push it.

"Is this about the strength of The Mark?"

No, it had been based on the fact that Blaise hadn't emerged from his room when she was around yesterday or this morning, as seen by looking up to see Daphne Greengrass eating by herself the entire time at breakfast. And feeling like she knew what she had said Saturday evening was the cause. ___The strength of The Mark? _Her hand twitched in its desire to reach up and touch the patch of skin in question, but stopped herself. She had been less than an entire second away from pulling some face that would have given herself away, or asking the headmistress some question—the ___wrong _question—but, instead directed her glance to her shoes. She didn't have to look up to feel her headmistress scrutinizing her.

"Does Mr. Zabini know that you're looking for this information on your own?"

Her head shook slightly. "No, he doesn't."

"...Alright, Miss Granger. I will have an owl sent to Madam Pince to allow you inside the section. You will be allowed to conduct your research at regular library hours; at no point will you be allowed to leave with a book in hand. I only ask that you practice discretion in letting your friends know you have this pass."

"Of course. Thank you, professor."

* * *

******A. Plorare.****____****The Curious Regard Toward Veela: A Look at Sexuality in the Witching World********, "Summation of Part One"(pp. 87): "...to say that the bite that a Veela places upon its intended mate is highly important is, put simply, both an understatement and an overstatement.**

******"The understatement: again, to summarize the earlier discussions of young Veela behavior and the major conclusions drawn from interviews conducted with Veelas and their mates, the bite, referred by its givers as 'The Mark', not only establishes a Veela's claim on their mate, it also serves as a means of influencing said mate's feelings towards the Veela. This has always been known in part due to the aphrodisiac qualities of Veela bodily fluids transferred via bite, as well as the magic a Veela wields herself. This, in turn, amounts to two basic forms of eroticism: seduction and sexual intercourse. Seduction, defined as 'the process of deliberately enticing a person to engage in sexual acts'; and sexual intercourse, the act of which admitted by all Mates No. 1-8, as being very similar of that between two human beings or other creatures.**

******"However, in starting this comparison of two human beings and a Veela and her mate, we are now led to our overstatement: while The Mark does, in fact, cause 'carnal desires' and lead to the act of intercourse itself, these actions are intended for the mate only, and are only for the mate to return. For today's scholars, healers, and prosecutors to claim that yes, Veelas are as similar to the ideology of a human being as you or I, but invoke dangerous sexual freedom and pose a danger to the peace of the Wizarding and quite possibly Muggle populations is no different from early academics, healers, and pseudo-chemists who used Veela blo—"**

A heavy thudding sound completely broke Hermione's concentration. She looked up from the tome she was reading, expecting to see Blaise staring down at her, blue eyes speaking nothing but concern and maybe even hurt at learning her current reading material. She wasn't even aware of the sigh of relief that left her mouth at seeing Higgs.

"Evening, Hermione..." His eyes did a sweep of the library desk she sat at, the neat stack of her Ancient Runes materials in the corner and numerous other books with yellowing pages and peeling hardcovers and leafs of parchment in her handwriting that covered the rest of the dark, varnished wood. "...We were supposed to meet now, right? Not earlier?"

"What?" She stared at the mess she was responsible for and outside the window at the stars that were beginning to twinkle in the night sky. She'd been in there since around one, when she had gone to her room to grab her books for afternoon classes and found herself unable to wait until later to use the slip that had been tied to the leg of the owl that had been patiently sitting on her study desk in her room. The seventeen-year-old had missed dinner and had absolutely forgotten that she and Higgs were supposed to be meeting about their translated text, their only opportunity to meet because of his upcoming game and then midterms. "Um, yes," her wand began to straighten up everything; she had been here for hours and saw her being in this session with Higgins for a few hours more, "we're supposed to meet now. I'm sorry—I'm just reading up on something."

He sank into the seat beside her, and sent a roving eye at the titles she had been reading:

_****__**Love Potions of the Ages, **_******"Lust Potions" (pp. 102): "...1 vial of Veela blood..."**;

_****__**Love Potions of the Ages (ed. 2)**_******, "Lust Potions" (pp. 100): "A secret amongst collectors of Veela blood is the method in which they collect said item. Over the years, I have borne witness to the process of bloodletting. Many of my colleagues, spurred by the correct fact that the effect of Veela bodily fluids on a human is strongest in the blood itself, believe that this is the best process, especially as the red colour contributes to a lovely hue of the finished product. However, I have found that saliva works just as effectively without evoking strong discomfort from the Veela and difficulty in plucking their feathers and cutting the flesh..."**;

**____****Early Anatomy of Mystical Creatures********, "Veelas" (pp. 354): "The heart, lung, intestines, pancreas, stomach, and liver all appear similar to that of a human...The stomach acids have been set aside and collected for future analysis. While my beginning observations lead me to believe there is nothing sinister in the secretions, I believe it is important to investigate so as not assume that it is truly the cause of the base desires Veelas inspire..."**;

**____****Asklepios Asylum Log Book****____****183 ********(pp. 84): "...May 16. In spite numerous addresses of Delia's name in today's lesson, she remained unresponsive. Her earlier hallucinatory and volatile countenance has given itself over to depression in the purest sense of the word. As I stated in my last log on her condition, she no longer responds to her name and refuses food and drink. Her personal hygiene has also suffered as her nails have grown over 6 in. long without her notice, in spite of the damage she daily inflicts upon herself...**

******"...May 19. Delia's designated nurse, one hour ago, reported a curious observation on Delia's person: feathers on her shoulders and forearms, hips, back, and pubic region...upon further examination, I have noticed that her shoulder blades have also begun to protrude..."**;

******"The Transcript of ****__****Veela v. Stimpson Estate******** (168-)" (pp. 20): "...'He looks much different from the night he arrived, sir...Completely unclothed? No, sir—he wore clothing. Undergarments, sir...His fingernails? They was much longer, sir. Eight inches and sharp—like a bird's. My employer, Mr. Stimpson, never stood a chance. The moment, the moment that Veela swiped at him and slashed his stomach, blood began to appear..."**

She watched him grab the book she had been reading before and opened it to a random page: ******"...Keep in mind that Brownling, the man who attempted to sexually attack Iris James, full-blooded Veela and wife to Mr. ********James, was not the persecuted in this case, but rather the persecutor. Also, take note of Bowling's claims that in spite witnessing Iris' clear devotion to her husband and mate, goes into great detail in explaining how his actions were spurred by the 'primal feeling' she invoked in him with her beauty. Of course, as the appearance and nature of Iris was known only to..."**

"Why are you reading all of those anyway? And where'd you get them?"

"Um, where most of the other books are. Sometimes I like to go back and re-read about things from earlier classes that really interested me. I mean, Veelas are interesting because I've heard of them before. It's funny because the illustrations I've seen—from pottery and stuff—makes them look like birds with human heads, but these describe them as people with feathers." All of that was a half-truth.

"...'Cause that's what they are. Clearly you know that since we both were in that same class at the time."

"I know, but...this is, completely different from what—"

He looked up and over at her and gave a grin, "You're a terrible liar."

Hermione felt her face getting red across the bridge of her nose until it spread over her cheeks and possibly her ears. She really ___was _a terrible liar, and she was upset that she was found out that easily. "No, I'm not."

"Yes you are. You're beet red." His finger swiped the air in front of her face over her cheeks. "No one is really that interested in Veela. I mean, if you're secretly harboring fantasies about Veela men, you might as well as come clean about it."

"I ___don't—_"

Terence's grin grew wider and he chuckled. "Easy, easy. I'm joking. Just payback for that joke that you played on me from our first meeting."

Hermione was so shocked at this, words weren't coming quickly or easily to her.

Terence closed the book and placed it down. His face was confused and concerned over her speechlessness. "Hermione, I'm honestly joking. Are you okay? You look kind of stressed."

She wasn't exactly sure how to tell someone that she was reading about Veelas, all these books were from the Restricted Section and she was allowed to read them from McGonagall's permission. A number of things she could have said instead to throw him off rested on her tongue—

___"I'm not stressed and I'm not harboring Veela fantasies."_

_"__It's just some reading."_

___"I'm a reader—reading books is what I do."_

___"Shouldn't you be more worried about finishing this part before your match Saturday?"_

___"A little...But what I'm doing with these books aren't any of your business."_

___"Isn't caring about how I feel a little out of the Slytherin Code of Conduct?"_

"I'm fine. I was just reading up on some stuff to take my mind off the assignment. I guess I'm more stressed than I first thought about things, people."

He nodded in understanding. "Okay. That's okay—there's no need to stress so much about it. We did well on the first assignment; we're going to do great on this one too. Look, let's just start looking over what we've done and see where we are after an hour." He opened up his book and the papers stuffed inside of it. "Are you ready?"

She grabbed her Ancient Runes assignment from her bag.

"I have a few questions about the symbols in a few lines...annnndddd most of this entire paragraph actually..."

* * *

Blaise heard her outside of the portal door, making small talk with Antoinette, and pretended that he was reading again. She didn't need to know that since emerging from his room and settling on the couch, waiting for her and dreading her actual arrival, that he had decided to calm his nerves by reading, but hadn't once turned the page he was on. He wasn't exactly sure if she had been trying to hide her footsteps, but if she had, she hadn't done a good job; the sound of her feet on the carpeted floor had come to an abrupt halt when she had come inside. He didn't even have to look up to know where she was standing in the common room.

He looked at those chocolate brown eyes of hers and felt many mixed feelings, the strongest of them being yearning. And resignation.

Still, he gave her a small smile, but one that didn't reach his eyes.

She looked a bit worried and walked over to him, but hesitated to sit down. "Can I talk to you?"

The textbook he hadn't been reading closed with a soft airy sound, his answer, and he watched her sit on the couch. Hermione didn't say anything for a few moments, just fumbled with her hands, and he knew that she was trying to think of the words to say. She was nervous too: she barely looked at him and she was giving her bottom lip its usual abuse.

The gesture was such a comfort for him. A great part of him was happy for the silence in conversation, but he knew that her not having the words she wanted to say prepared yet meant that he could say what had been on his mind for the past two days. He reached over to touch her hand, sliding his own under hers to loosely cradle it. His thumb began to run across the lines on her palm.

"Hermione...there is something I need to tell you about The Mark on your neck...It's not just a bite that I gave you the first night you came. It's much more than that. And what I have to tell you, it's something that you deserve to know."

Hermione swallowed, but didn't say anything.

"When a full-blooded reaches maturity and seeks out their mate, they have to bond with them immediately."

"I, I remember."

Part of him wanted to smile. "I know you do. But you don't know upon first meeting their mate, a Veela will use their magic to influence their mate. The Mark is to help with that because it helps to directly influence a mate. When I bit you that first night, I put some of my hormones in you. It's to cloud your judgment; to make it easier for you to give yourself to me because...we're not exactly mates until we have sex.

"Sometimes...since the first time you came into the common room that first day...I've felt myself doing it to you."

The first night she had arrived and he had looked upon her.

The first kiss they shared.

...Saturday night.

An ugly look, one that he couldn't deny, crossed her face. And then it gave itself over to a dumbfounded look and pink cheeks. He was struck by how easily he could read her expressions; to him, she was like a book that he could never get tired of reading. It was like he was experiencing Hermione remembering just about every time they had been on the very couch they were sitting on: how he had made her feel, how she'd grab at his clothes and say his name over and over again.

She didn't say anything though, so he continued. "But the desire to make you...mine...isn't close to what you'd experience if I was full-blooded. The human side of me dilutes the strength of my Veela blood, but it's still stronger than most quarter-Veelas or even half-Veelas. I'm still safe because I Marked you, but before then, when I was here and waiting for you to come, I barely remember it. Even on Saturday... Hermione, loving you, it's part of my nature—you're my mate.

"I know what I am makes you doubt how I feel about you, but there is no specific part of me that I can point to and say loves you more than the other. That's not how it works. I can't say that if I had been...human...I would have started to like you. Or, if I did, if I would feel it as strongly as I do. But, if I had, I know I could have pursued you the way you want and deserve."

His thumb still rubbed the grooves in her hand. It was almost like it had never become something he hadn't been able to recognize, those long, taloned nails of his. It had taken him most of the night to file his nails down. And Sunday he had spent much of his time waiting for his cut to heal and fighting with himself, trying not to bolt out of the door to find her; tell her that the...fog had come back and one thing—one ___word_—would make him start changing; and promise her that giving herself to him right then and there wouldn't be terrible. That he would be dedicated to loving her and making her happy forever...

___"I feel like one part of you may love me more than the other."_

...or just letting himself give into the fog that seemed ready to welcome him back...and the isolation he'd want when she turned him away.

"But, I know that it's important for you to...grow to love me, so I am asking you to please do so. Let me show you that I can love you...for as long as I can. I don't know how long that will take me, but I promise the day that I can't anymore or you no longer want me to, I'll let you go. And you can...you can be free to like or love whomever you want..."

His hand was shaking, but he was barely aware of it.

They must have sat there in silence for almost five minutes, her eyes shifting from left to right as if she was reading something and her teeth digging into the plumpness of her lips. Even now, he hung on her every movement and he saw her as lovely—absolutely beautiful. Even though she seemed seconds away from turning to him and letting him go, telling him that she refused... "Please, say something."

Her hand in his began to shift and move, her fingers interlocking with and clasping his. "I like you, Blaise."

Blaise had gone completely still beside her for about a second before fully coming to life and turning to her. She liked him? His hand slipped out of hers, but only to push her curls from her shoulders. She truly liked him?

The brunette looked over at him, those eyes of hers so clear and sure of what she was feeling. As if she had just realized it.

That she liked him.

He felt the fatigue wash off his body and be replaced with relief.

She wasn't done yet. "...I know that you and I really depends on me loving you. I know that now. So...do you think you can wait until I say it? And, and, and we can go from there?"

"...Of course." His voice was relieved, like everything was solved in spite of the things he hadn't said and the fact that part of him was still worried...

Still...The tension that had been present when she had first walked in was clearing; like magnets, they were already getting closer to each other. Before he knew it, she was leaning forward and pressing her lips on his. It was nothing like the other kisses they had exchanged; it was the first one she had ever initiated herself. He felt that relief again, felt it like he felt her eyes close. And when he touched her Mark, he knew she felt a warm feeling spread throughout her body and a smile tug at her lips before he pulled away, the quiet smack of their lips filling in the silence.

* * *

___Chapter 8._

___I hope you liked the final scene between Hermione and Blaise._

___Not entirely sure where the inspiration for all those book descriptions came from. I mean HP has always depicted the Wizarding World's treatment of topics and prejudices: house elves; Muggle-borns; etc. etc. And while Fleur, who is mixed with Veela blood in the book, is always treated kindly, I think I just gave those early texts pretty much depict the abuses a Veela would suffer. I figure there's a reason why those books would be located in the Restricted Section, right?_

___R&R._


	8. Chapter 8

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated T

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

–

"I know you haven't made your mind up yet,

but I would never do you wrong.

I've know it from the moment that we met,

no doubt in my mind where you belong..."

"Make You Feel My Love" -Adele, _18_

–

******"TRIALS AGAINST DEATH EATERS SET TO BEGIN MONDAY"**

_–_

___"What was that?" _That what was Daphne had said when she had spied the two of them, Granger and Blaise, smiling at each other about two weeks ago. Her finger was pointing at him and Granger's retreating back in confusion. The seventh-year Gryffindor had been walking into the library with the Weasley sister, who seemed so wrapped up in whatever she was on about that she hadn't seen anything; Blaise had been leaning against the side of the library entrance, waiting for her to finish delivering the letter she had for those Ravenclaws.

He had stopped leaning on the wall and began walking down the hall, en route to Slytherin House to help her study. ___"We're Head Boy and Head Girl—it __is____ i____mportant that we get along..."_That was Blaise explaining himself at being caught being nice, not necessarily on feelings or a crush. She hadn't been able to tell if he was nervous; the Italian had a poker face that rivaled her grandfather's. ___"...She __is ____nice," _he had said to Daphne's offering of her opinion on Hermione's character, ___"and has been helping me improve writing my papers and essays for class. Grammar and such."_

___"But Blaise, you usually don't have problems with your grammar or your papers; it's usually me asking you for help."_

___"...You know that improving in my studies are important to me. Hermione is the smartest person in the entire school; I couldn't ask for anyone else better to help me. Especially when you consider most of the students in our house."_

___"That's true...Wait waitwaitwait—Her-MI-one, huh?" _She had replied coyly.

He had stopped walking then and she could have sworn that she saw him blushing or something, but she had been pretty sure that she was just seeing wrong. He just sighed and gave her the look that said he was going to explain something to her like he would a child. He did this a lot.

___"Now that the war is over, calling other people by their names shouldn't be such a taboo thing. She and I perform Head duties together and she helps me with my work. I shouldn't act like I'm unable to call her by her ____name, right?"_

___She didn't say anything; that usually meant that he was right._

___"Are you going to try to tease me about calling Hermione Granger by her first name, or are you going to tell me what happened when you handed those two sixth-years the letter?"_

That was the end of that; she wasn't really someone who gave up talking about the jinxes she gave.

At least, that she ___thought _that was the end of that until just now when she suddenly realized that every time she looked up from peeling her orange, The Head Girl was looking over at her...or rather, she finally realized, the empty chair beside her.

Of course Daphne had been wondering exactly where Blaise was, but had concluded that he might have either been in the library, trying to do more research for an assignment (completely possible for him; the end of the semester was close and Blaise's slacker nature was known for always being a bit overwhelmed with the increase of school work around this time), or was sick and wasn't going to be in classes for the day. But with Weasley approaching her the other day and ___this_, she had reason to believe that she was missing something.

Her lips licked any reminiscent taste of oranges and she began to collect her books.

Probably.

–

Hermione was happy that she had caught Professor McGonagall just as she was leaving her office. She had been willing to wait for her to come out, but this made it easier to act on the thought that had suddenly struck her when she finally realized that breakfast was almost over and Blaise wasn't coming into the Great Hall.

"Miss Granger...Good morning."

"Good morning. May I speak with you for a moment? About...things?"

The older woman's eyebrows rose at the word choice. "Of course...would you rather it take place in a more private area? I must warn you I can only speak for a moment."

The seventeen-year-old looked around the deserted hallway, trying to think about how soon it would be before it became full of students en route to their first class of the day. Her teeth bit into her lip, peeling away at the chapped skin. Wordlessly, the headmistress opened up the door and the two stepped inside, but not going up the steps. Apparently, this was as far as the educator was willing to go.

It'd have to do. With a deep sigh, Hermione practically blurted out, "I was hoping you knew of any book...or books about Veelas in the Restricted Section...and if I could have access to it...or them."

McGonagall's eyebrow raised. "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

___"...You were comfortable enough the first night to allow me to Mark you...it's one way of me telling you that I love you. But you're uncomfortable with me saying the words themselves?"_

"Most of the books I've found in the library keep saying the same thing." She was about to say more, but decided not to at the last minute, her teeth closing together with a slight ___clack_. There were a million ways everything she had just uttered could have blown up in her face—it was better not to push it.

"Is this about the strength of The Mark?"

No, it had been based on the fact that Blaise hadn't emerged from his room when she was around yesterday or this morning, as seen by looking up to see Daphne Greengrass eating by herself the entire time at breakfast. And feeling like she knew what she had said Saturday evening was the cause. ___The strength of The Mark? _Her hand twitched in its desire to reach up and touch the patch of skin in question, but stopped herself. She had been less than an entire second away from pulling some face that would have given herself away, or asking the headmistress some question—the ___wrong _question—but, instead directed her glance to her shoes. She didn't have to look up to feel her headmistress scrutinizing her.

"Does Mr. Zabini know that you're looking for this information on your own?"

Her head shook slightly. "No, he doesn't."

"...Alright, Miss Granger. I will have an owl sent to Madam Pince to allow you inside the section. You will be allowed to conduct your research at regular library hours; at no point will you be allowed to leave with a book in hand. I only ask that you practice discretion in letting your friends know you have this pass."

"Of course. Thank you, professor."

**–**

******A. Plorare.**__**____****The Curious Regard Toward Veela: A Look at Sexuality in the Witching World********, "Summation of Part One"(pp. 87): "...to say that the bite that a Veela places upon its intended mate is highly important is, put simply, both an understatement and an overstatement.**

******"The understatement: again, to summarize the earlier discussions of young Veela behavior and the major conclusions drawn from interviews conducted with Veelas and their mates, the bite, referred by its givers as 'The Mark', not only establishes a Veela's claim on their mate, it also serves as a means of influencing said mate's feelings towards the Veela. This has always been known in part due to the aphrodisiac qualities of Veela bodily fluids transferred via bite, as well as the magic a Veela wields herself. This, in turn, amounts to two basic forms of eroticism: seduction and sexual intercourse. Seduction, defined as 'the process of deliberately enticing a person to engage in sexual acts'; and sexual intercourse, the act of which admitted by all Mates No. 1-8, as being very similar of that between two human beings or other creatures.**

******"However, in starting this comparison of two human beings and a Veela and her mate, we are now led to our overstatement: while The Mark does, in fact, cause 'carnal desires' and lead to the act of intercourse itself, these actions are intended for the mate only, and are only for the mate to return. For today's scholars, healers, and prosecutors to claim that yes, Veelas are as similar to the ideology of a human being as you or I, but invoke dangerous sexual freedom and pose a danger to the peace of the Wizarding and quite possibly Muggle populations is no different from early academics, healers, and pseudo-chemists who used Veela blo—"**

A heavy thudding sound completely broke Hermione's concentration. She looked up from the tome she was reading, expecting to see Blaise staring down at her, blue eyes speaking nothing but concern and maybe even hurt at learning her current reading material. She wasn't even aware of the sigh of relief that left her mouth at seeing Higgs.

"Evening, Hermione..." His eyes did a sweep of the library desk she sat at, the neat stack of her Ancient Runes materials in the corner and numerous other books with yellowing pages and peeling hardcovers and leafs of parchment in her handwriting that covered the rest of the dark, varnished wood. "...We were supposed to meet now, right? Not earlier?"

"What?" She stared at the mess she was responsible for and outside the window at the stars that were beginning to twinkle in the night sky. She'd been in there since around one, when she had gone to her room to grab her books for afternoon classes and found herself unable to wait until later to use the slip that had been tied to the leg of the owl that had been patiently sitting on her study desk in her room. The seventeen-year-old had missed dinner and had absolutely forgotten that she and Higgs were supposed to be meeting about their translated text, their only opportunity to meet because of his upcoming game and then midterms. "Um, yes," her wand began to straighten up everything; she had been here for hours and saw her being in this session with Higgins for a few hours more, "we're supposed to meet now. I'm sorry—I'm just reading up on something."

He sank into the seat beside her, and sent a roving eye at the titles she had been reading:

_****__**Love Potions of the Ages, **_******"Lust Potions" (pp. 102): "...1 vial of Veela blood..."**;

_****__**Love Potions of the Ages (ed. 2)**_******, "Lust Potions" (pp. 100): "A secret amongst collectors of Veela blood is the method in which they collect said item. Over the years, I have borne witness to the process of bloodletting. Many of my colleagues, spurred by the correct fact that the effect of Veela bodily fluids on a human is strongest in the blood itself, believe that this is the best process, especially as the red colour contributes to a lovely hue of the finished product. However, I have found that saliva works just as effectively without evoking strong discomfort from the Veela and difficulty in plucking their feathers and cutting the flesh..."**;

**____****Early Anatomy of Mystical Creatures********, "Veelas" (pp. 354): "The heart, lung, intestines, pancreas, stomach, and liver all appear similar to that of a human...The stomach acids have been set aside and collected for future analysis. While my beginning observations lead me to believe there is nothing sinister in the secretions, I believe it is important to investigate so as not assume that it is truly the cause of the base desires Veelas inspire..."**;

**____****Asklepios Asylum Log Book**__**____****183 ********(pp. 84): "...May 16. In spite numerous addresses of Delia's name in today's lesson, she remained unresponsive. Her earlier hallucinatory and volatile countenance has given itself over to depression in the purest sense of the word. As I stated in my last log on her condition, she no longer responds to her name and refuses food and drink. Her personal hygiene has also suffered as her nails have grown over 6 in. long without her notice, in spite of the damage she daily inflicts upon herself...**

******"...May 19. Delia's designated nurse, one hour ago, reported a curious observation on Delia's person: feathers on her shoulders and forearms, hips, back, and pubic region...upon further examination, I have noticed that her shoulder blades have also begun to protrude..."**;

******"The Transcript of ****__****Veela v. Stimpson Estate******** (168-)" (pp. 20): "...'He looks much different from the night he arrived, sir...Completely unclothed? No, sir—he wore clothing. Undergarments, sir...His fingernails? They was much longer, sir. Eight inches and sharp—like a bird's. My employer, Mr. Stimpson, never stood a chance. The moment, the moment that Veela swiped at him and slashed his stomach, blood began to appear..."**

She watched him grab the book she had been reading before and opened it to a random page: ******"...Keep in mind that Brownling, the man who attempted to sexually attack Iris James, full-blooded Veela and wife to Mr. ********James, was not the persecuted in this case, but rather the persecutor. Also, take note of Bowling's claims that in spite witnessing Iris' clear devotion to her husband and mate, goes into great detail in explaining how his actions were spurred by the 'primal feeling' she invoked in him with her beauty. Of course, as the appearance and nature of Iris was known only to..."**

"Why are you reading all of those anyway? And where'd you get them?"

"Um, where most of the other books are. Sometimes I like to go back and re-read about things from earlier classes that really interested me. I mean, Veelas are interesting because I've heard of them before. It's funny because the illustrations I've seen—from pottery and stuff—makes them look like birds with human heads, but these describe them as people with feathers." All of that was a half-truth.

"...'Cause that's what they are. Clearly you know that since we both were in that same class at the time."

"I know, but...this is, completely different from what—"

He looked up and over at her and gave a grin, "You're a terrible liar."

Hermione felt her face getting red across the bridge of her nose until it spread over her cheeks and possibly her ears. She really ___was _a terrible liar, and she was upset that she was found out that easily. "No, I'm not."

"Yes you are. You're beet red." His finger swiped the air in front of her face over her cheeks. "No one is really that interested in Veela. I mean, if you're secretly harboring fantasies about Veela men, you might as well as come clean about it."

"I ___don't—_"

Terence's grin grew wider and he chuckled. "Easy, easy. I'm joking. Just payback for that joke that you played on me from our first meeting."

Hermione was so shocked at this, words weren't coming quickly or easily to her.

Terence closed the book and placed it down. His face was confused and concerned over her speechlessness. "Hermione, I'm honestly joking. Are you okay? You look kind of stressed."

She wasn't exactly sure how to tell someone that she was reading about Veelas, all these books were from the Restricted Section and she was allowed to read them from McGonagall's permission. A number of things she could have said instead to throw him off rested on her tongue—

___"I'm not stressed and I'm not harboring Veela fantasies."_

_"__It's just some reading."_

___"I'm a reader—reading books is what I do."_

___"Shouldn't you be more worried about finishing this part before your match Saturday?"_

___"A little...But what I'm doing with these books aren't any of your business."_

___"Isn't caring about how I feel a little out of the Slytherin Code of Conduct?"_

"I'm fine. I was just reading up on some stuff to take my mind off the assignment. I guess I'm more stressed than I first thought about things, people."

He nodded in understanding. "Okay. That's okay—there's no need to stress so much about it. We did well on the first assignment; we're going to do great on this one too. Look, let's just start looking over what we've done and see where we are after an hour." He opened up his book and the papers stuffed inside of it. "Are you ready?"

She grabbed her Ancient Runes assignment from her bag.

"I have a few questions about the symbols in a few lines...annnndddd most of this entire paragraph actually..."

–

Blaise heard her outside of the portal door, making small talk with Antoinette, and pretended that he was reading again. She didn't need to know that since emerging from his room and settling on the couch, waiting for her and dreading her actual arrival, that he had decided to calm his nerves by reading, but hadn't once turned the page he was on. He wasn't exactly sure if she had been trying to hide her footsteps, but if she had, she hadn't done a good job; the sound of her feet on the carpeted floor had come to an abrupt halt when she had come inside. He didn't even have to look up to know where she was standing in the common room.

He looked at those chocolate brown eyes of hers and felt many mixed feelings, the strongest of them being yearning. And resignation.

Still, he gave her a small smile, but one that didn't reach his eyes.

She looked a bit worried and walked over to him, but hesitated to sit down. "Can I talk to you?"

The textbook he hadn't been reading closed with a soft airy sound, his answer, and he watched her sit on the couch. Hermione didn't say anything for a few moments, just fumbled with her hands, and he knew that she was trying to think of the words to say. She was nervous too: she barely looked at him and she was giving her bottom lip its usual abuse.

The gesture was such a comfort for him. A great part of him was happy for the silence in conversation, but he knew that her not having the words she wanted to say prepared yet meant that he could say what had been on his mind for the past two days. He reached over to touch her hand, sliding his own under hers to loosely cradle it. His thumb began to run across the lines on her palm.

"Hermione...there is something I need to tell you about The Mark on your neck...It's not just a bite that I gave you the first night you came. It's much more than that. And what I have to tell you, it's something that you deserve to know."

Hermione swallowed, but didn't say anything.

"When a full-blooded reaches maturity and seeks out their mate, they have to bond with them immediately."

"I, I remember."

Part of him wanted to smile. "I know you do. But you don't know upon first meeting their mate, a Veela will use their magic to influence their mate. The Mark is to help with that because it helps to directly influence a mate. When I bit you that first night, I put some of my hormones in you. It's to cloud your judgment; to make it easier for you to give yourself to me because...we're not exactly mates until we have sex.

"Sometimes...since the first time you came into the common room that first day...I've felt myself doing it to you."

The first night she had arrived and he had looked upon her.

The first kiss they shared.

...Saturday night.

An ugly look, one that he couldn't deny, crossed her face. And then it gave itself over to a dumbfounded look and pink cheeks. He was struck by how easily he could read her expressions; to him, she was like a book that he could never get tired of reading. It was like he was experiencing Hermione remembering just about every time they had been on the very couch they were sitting on: how he had made her feel, how she'd grab at his clothes and say his name over and over again.

She didn't say anything though, so he continued. "But the desire to make you...mine...isn't close to what you'd experience if I was full-blooded. The human side of me dilutes the strength of my Veela blood, but it's still stronger than most quarter-Veelas or even half-Veelas. I'm still safe because I Marked you, but before then, when I was here and waiting for you to come, I barely remember it. Even on Saturday... Hermione, loving you, it's part of my nature—you're my mate.

"I know what I am makes you doubt how I feel about you, but there is no specific part of me that I can point to and say loves you more than the other. That's not how it works. I can't say that if I had been...human...I would have started to like you. Or, if I did, if I would feel it as strongly as I do. But, if I had, I know I could have pursued you the way you want and deserve."

His thumb still rubbed the grooves in her hand. It was almost like it had never become something he hadn't been able to recognize, those long, taloned nails of his. It had taken him most of the night to file his nails down. And Sunday he had spent much of his time waiting for his cut to heal and fighting with himself, trying not to bolt out of the door to find her; tell her that the...fog had come back and one thing—one ___word_—would make him start changing; and promise her that giving herself to him right then and there wouldn't be terrible. That he would be dedicated to loving her and making her happy forever...

___"I feel like one part of you may love me more than the other."_

...or just letting himself give into the fog that seemed ready to welcome him back...and the isolation he'd want when she turned him away.

"But, I know that it's important for you to...grow to love me, so I am asking you to please do so. Let me show you that I can love you...for as long as I can. I don't know how long that will take me, but I promise the day that I can't anymore or you no longer want me to, I'll let you go. And you can...you can be free to like or love whomever you want..."

His hand was shaking, but he was barely aware of it.

They must have sat there in silence for almost five minutes, her eyes shifting from left to right as if she was reading something and her teeth digging into the plumpness of her lips. Even now, he hung on her every movement and he saw her as lovely—absolutely beautiful. Even though she seemed seconds away from turning to him and letting him go, telling him that she refused... "Please, say something."

Her hand in his began to shift and move, her fingers interlocking with and clasping his. "I like you, Blaise."

Blaise had gone completely still beside her for about a second before fully coming to life and turning to her. She liked him? His hand slipped out of hers, but only to push her curls from her shoulders. She truly liked him?

The brunette looked over at him, those eyes of hers so clear and sure of what she was feeling. As if she had just realized it.

That she liked him.

He felt the fatigue wash off his body and be replaced with relief.

She wasn't done yet. "...I know that you and I really depends on me loving you. I know that now. So...do you think you can wait until I say it? And, and, and we can go from there?"

"...Of course." His voice was relieved, like everything was solved in spite of the things he hadn't said and the fact that part of him was still worried...

Still...The tension that had been present when she had first walked in was clearing; like magnets, they were already getting closer to each other. Before he knew it, she was leaning forward and pressing her lips on his. It was nothing like the other kisses they had exchanged; it was the first one she had ever initiated herself. He felt that relief again, felt it like he felt her eyes close. And when he touched her Mark, he knew she felt a warm feeling spread throughout her body and a smile tug at her lips before he pulled away, the quiet smack of their lips filling in the silence.

_–_

___Chapter 8._

___I hope you liked the final scene between Hermione and Blaise._

___Not entirely sure where the inspiration for all those book descriptions came from. I mean HP has always depicted the Wizarding World's treatment of topics and prejudices: house elves; Muggle-borns; etc. etc. And while Fleur, who is mixed with Veela blood in the book, is always treated kindly, I think I just gave those early texts pretty much depict the abuses a Veela would suffer. I figure there's a reason why those books would be located in the Restricted Section, right?_

___R&R._


	9. Chapter 9

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated T

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

–

___Terminology/Translation(s):_

"Mi leonessa" (Italian): "My lioness"

"mushroom en papillote" (French): a French dish in which mushrooms are cooked 'en papillote' or in a seal packet; a good accompaniment to fish and poultry dishes

"Regardz-vous" (French): "Look at you!"

"Tres jolie!" (French): "How pretty!"

___(Source: Google Translate; Williams-Sonoma)_

**–**

******"DEATH TRIALS CONTINUE WITH MALFOY TESTIMONY**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON**—******As the Ministry of Magic finishes its hearings against Rudolphous Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy for the year, the surviving confidantes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's inner circle, Malfoy is once again expected to continue his testimony. It is expected that this will be his last day testifying and when the Ministry meets again at the beginning of the year, Lestrange will take the stand. Although both men are being tried together, it is expected that the Ministry will give both their separate rulings.**

******"Malfoy has spent much of his time on the bench going into detail about Death Eater plans against the lives of Harry Potter and key individuals within the Ministry's infrastructure, and maintained the statement that his participation in the Second Wizarding War was out of fear of threats the Dark Lord placed on the lives of himself and his family.**

******"********'If he had been refused, he [He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named] would have turned to my wife and my son and tortured and killed them. I did what I did for my family. Can you understand that?' Said Malfoy to prosecutors his second day."**

******"He has also maintained that his son, Draco Malfoy, is innocent of all wrong-doing and that his participation was something that he himself forced as per The Dark Lord's orders. As the younger Malfoy is still a minor in Wizarding law and no evidence has appeared against him in the investigation, he will not be prosecuted.**

******"The events of the Malfoy-Lestrange trial seem to have causing what some are calling a rift between Minister Scrimgeour and other ministry officials. It is believed this is an on-going conflict that continues due to other disagreements regarding the minister's initiatives in handling the continued search for fugitive Death Eaters. Many of Scrimgeour's initiatives call for immediate arrest and imprisonment of individuals found in Auror ********raids without trial, proposals that are in direct conflict against the fairness of the civil courts and principal Wizarding Laws...**

–

"Maybe you're right."

Ron looked down at Greengrass quizzically. He had had a long day: after pulling an all-nighter, going through all the motions of classes, and submitting his final round of winter midterm for his final year at Hogwarts, he had just finished enduring a grueling practice in the snow that lasted way longer than it was supposed to (Harry, channeling the legacy and very spirit of Oliver Wood, had thought it would be a good idea for them to try a few practice plays since the playoffs began the moment they got back). The tall redhead, along with Peakes, Roy, Robins, and Coote, had all decided to come back from the kitchens early to take advantage of the day they still had left for packing, when he heard footsteps belonging to the Slytherin girl coming at him. She had ignored Peakes and Coote's low wolf-whistles as she told him that she needed to talk to him alone.

And now this.

She stared back at him in the same way, her head cocking to the side. "Do you remember what I'm talking about?"

"...I do. It's just, I'm bloody tired." He rubbed his face length-wise, stretching his mouth until his bottom gums showed. "When did you see them?"

"I've been seeing them stare at each other during dinner for a couple of weeks now. It's not like every meal all the time; just every once in awhile."

"And when they do, Zabini stares at 'Mione."

"___No. _Not all the time. Mostly, I've been seeing Granger stare at Blaise."

Ron shakes his head. "She wouldn't like anybody from your house. You must not be looking at Zabini close enough."

"And you're sure about that?" She crossed her arms, her blue eyes skeptical.

"I ___know _'Mione—she ___wouldn't_."

"How would you even be able to tell? You sit beside her and you don't even notice her looking at my table—anybody with eyes would notice."

"Because why would she like Blaise Zabini? Why would she like any Slytherins, period? You guys are the ones that were always teasing her, making life bloody difficult for her here. And it was always the ones with the oldest bloodlines from your house doing it."

"Wow." She looked flabbergasted. "Wow. Are all you Gryffindors this short-sighted, or are you just a special case because you are impossible. I know you think because we all wear the same tie, we're all just a bunch of younger blood purists, but there are actually some of us who aren't walking around spouting that agenda. Like Blaise.

"And that was ___Malfoy _and his idiots teasing Granger. That wasn't Blaise; he and Malfoy never hung out with one another ___ever—_I don't even think they liked each other. And Malfoy's not even here anymore. And in any case, why do you think that accusing Blaise of something he's never taken a part of makes you any better than the people who teased Granger?

"And if you're so sure that Granger could never like Blaise, then why do you keep asking me for confirmation? Maybe you should just confess that you like her and get it over it."

"I ___don't _like her. She's one of my best mates; she was constantly being teased by people in your house and so I want to make sure that she's safe. Because even though her bullies are gone, that doesn't mean that she isn't still being teased by someone. That's it. If the tables were turned, she'd do the same for me."

"Okay...I can understand that, but from what I see when I see Granger, no one is teasing her now and she looks...happier, I guess. And Blaise maybe having a crush on Granger is nothing like teasing her, you do realize that, right? So, you're still left with the questions of why do you care and why don't you just ask her?"

She waited for three seconds for his reply before displaying how much their conversation was a waste of her time. She shook her head and walked away from him.

–

"T. Higgs & H. Granger"

"Grade: N

"Very good! Enjoy your holiday and see you next year!

"—B"

**–**

******"IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS, WHAT DOES MALFOY'S TESTIMONY SOLVE?**

******"Over the last few weeks, my lovely meal ticket, ****____****The Daily Prophet********, has provided headline after headline regarding every second of the Malfoy-Lestrange Death Eater trial and all the dramatics that surround it: from facial expressions to the increasing disagreement between Scrimgeour and other prominent members of the ministry. And with good reason of course—the way this trial is handled for the only Lestrange survivor and Lucius Malfoy will set the tone in deciding how future Death Eaters who are convicted of their war crimes are treated by our legal system...or, rather, the system that is still trying to rebuild itself after being knocked down in the wake of the Death Eater's hostile takeover of the government six months prior.**

******"Yadda yadda yadda. Those are the words of my grandmother and they are used to finish stating the obvious. I use them a lot. If you have been keeping up on the event and the politics surrounding it, you know all of this already. And you know that this is important—defining, even, as it is believed that most of our protocol will likely be adopted by other countries in Wizarding Europe.**

******"But before all of that, let's focus on Lestrange and Malfoy—or, for all intended purposes, Malfoy (because let's face it: Lestrange was an escapee from Azkaban in the early days of The Second Wizarding War; whatever he's getting will just be an addition to what he's already gotten). And let's bring up the title of the piece and try to answer it using the following words:**

******"It's hard to say.**

******"Now before you decide to write angry letters, let's look at the trial objectively for a moment. (Do your best, but know that I'm doing most of the work for you.) Lucius Malfoy, the patriarch of one of the most well-known (and purist) Wizard family bloodlines in all of Wizarding Europe and former school governor in the Ministry's own education department, is giving a testimony pleading his innocence in matters of The Secondary Wizarding War, a nearly two-year war that has cast a shadow in the Wizarding World even darker than its predecessor and will affect the mood of almost every holiday season we'll have for the next few years. And it's being given in front of the government comprised of his former co-workers, many of which secretly didn't like him (I suppose; he seems like a rather hard guy to like) and assumed him to be supportive of The Dark Lord in the wake of the first war, and many whom we now know were to be killed in The Dark Lord's schemes against the Wizarding World..."**

–

"Fleur?"

The beautiful blonde looked up from her handling of the main entree of New Year's dinner, salmon, wild rice, and mushroom en papillote, to see Hermione standing in her kitchen. "'Ermione!" The newlywed placed her cooking mittens on the counter and half-ran to the seventeen-year-old, the long white dress she wore billowing just enough to show her shapely legs. ___"Regardz-vous! Tres jolie!" _Her hands touched the shoulders of Hermione's buttercream-hued lace dress and the braid atop her head (the result of half a bottle of one of the multiple hair products Lavender and Patil loved to suggest and buy for her). Of course no matter how good Hermione looked or how much makeup she put on, she didn't really compare to how stunning Fleur appeared. "Is everything alright in the sitting room? Dinner is almost finished."

"They're...fine." That was the best way of describing it. This was the first holiday without so many people—Fred, Tonks, Professor Lupin—and she could tell how much it weighed on everyone. If she had to be honest, it was like the moment after a funeral when the living went back home after burying the loved one...and it wasn't just because everyone had dressed their best for the occasion.

Aside from the customary greetings and small talk, everyone had branched off to do their own thing. Mr. Weasley and her father, spurred by the appearance of the latter's cell phone, were talking about technology (the concept of technology, the use of technology, the benefits of using technology as Muggles); Mrs. Weasley, her mother, and Andromeda Tonks were cooing over baby Teddy and his ever-changing hair color; Bill and Charlie were sitting off to the side, drinks in hand; Percy and George had stepped out to smoke, the latter rubbing at the ear that he was re-growing ("We just got rid of the scars and determined that my canal and nerves will work. I'm not supposed to touch it as often as I'm doing, but I guess it just helps me...get used to it growing back, Herms," he had told her when he showed it, but his voice lacked the usual jovial tone it was known for.).

She, Harry, Ginny, and Ron had gone to visit Dobby's grave, but now the two boys were playing Wizard Chess and Ginny was going back and forth between watching them and messing around with Fred's newest invention...and she, Hermione, was in the immaculately-designed kitchen.

"Maybe it was wrong to ask everyone to dress up, but I thought if we did...this...differently, it would help with the mood." She gestured at the plates of food that she had already prepared, a nervous look on her face.

"...I overheard Molly saying that dinner smelled nice; I'm sure everyone will really appreciate it when it's ready."

"And our surprise at the end." The older girl's smile came back and was as dazzlingly beautiful as ever.

And the reason why Hermione had wandered into the kitchen in the first place. "Fleur, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

She pulled at the left sleeve of her dress, the one where she was wearing Blaise's Christmas gift to her, and looked at her best friend's sister-in-law. "I've been reading about magical creatures—Veela...Ever since I learned," she sighed and tried again, "...that Veelas are based on the idea of Homer's The Sirens, I have been doing a lot of reading up on them...I guess I haven't gotten used to not having to do a lot of extra research for Harry yet. But, I remembered that you have Veela blood in your family—"

"My grandmother."

"Yes! I wanted to know...how did your grandparents act together? If—if that isn't me being too personal."

"No! No, 'Ermione, no. I am happy to tell!" She grinned as she thought about how best to articulate herself. "My grandparents were...amazing together."

"Amazing?"

"___Oui. _She was the last woman to...imprint, er, they call it ___mark_, on my grandfather. But, they loved each other very much."

___"I know we said we weren't giving each other a Christmas present, but I still want to give you something." Blaise said, his hand clasped around the "something" he was holding. Deciding to not tease her, he opened to reveal a pair of little gold oval-shaped pins. The "Z" etched on the front looked a lot like the one she had seen on top of that wine bottle he had shown her before._

___"Thank you." She offered him her sleeve and watched as he placed them in the inside of the material._

___He smiled. "These are very special to me; these were my father's and I received them when I was little."_

___"Really?"_

___He reached over to the side of the couch where their coats were and dug into his own, pulling out his wallet and rifling through for a worn picture of what appeared to be a wedding day. She was looking into the faces of a young woman wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet of flowers—his mother, she could tell from the smile on her face and jet-black hair...and a tall and very handsome man with traces of Blaise's face in a black suit...his father. "She's twenty in this picture; he's my age now. "You can't see them yet, but I've been told that he had them made for their wedding day." They were standing at what looked like the side of a road and it was windy; his mother's hair was billowing around her face, and when his father pushed his away from his blue eyes, she saw two the two glimmers of the cufflinks in the sun. "I usually wear____them only once a year, when she and I visit his grave after New Year's."_

___"...Did he pass away around New Year's?" She was thinking about the upcoming New Year's Eve party at Shell Cottage and the fact that it brought up memories of Fred and Tonks and Professor Lupin and that Ron had been ____strangely mum about everything. He had started acting...weird around her just recently, and she admittedly hadn't been around as much, so she figured that he wouldn't want to talk to her, but Harry had told her that his best mate hadn't talked about it much with him either._

___"No, but it's something that makes her happy, so we go." He was staring at them, the way she suddenly leaned on his father's shoulder. "They had just come from their elopement on the vineyard in this picture. My mother was engaged already to a man my grandfather, her father, considered to be the son he never had. Somehow during that engagement, my father had sought her out and Marked her." He laughed. "She hates to admit that to me because of what it entails, and I hated hearing it the first time, but that's what happened...She had waited for my grandfather to call off the wedding for about a week, but when he didn't, she went to the vineyard and they were married there."_

___Hermione continued to stare at the youthful image of his father with Blaise, as if the traces of Veela blood in him would suddenly become clear to her if she looked hard enough. He looked back up, but through her, forever caught in the snapshot of time with Blaise's mother. "When he was...alive...what were they like together?"_

___"They were... Perfect." His face went into a look of contemplation. "It's almost hard to explain._

___"...I know that our books talk about how dedicated Veelas are to their mate, but I believe that feeling is true of their mates too. I cannot speak for all of my mother's...actions with all her other husbands because I didn't know everything that went on, when they get sick or have accidents...But I can say that I feel like she's married so many times because of the loneliness she's felt at losing him. There was a happiness and connection she had to my father that I've never seen her have with any of them...because it will never exist with any of them."_

___His voice trailed off and in the silence, he grabbed her wrist and stared at the cufflinks once more before kissing them. His fingers pulled her sleeve back until the skin was exposed and he kissed that spot again. He looked up at her from his brow, the look of his eyes obscured by the chunk of his hair in front of his face. "Mi leonessa..." his voice became husky, "my lioness, I'm giving these to you because I want us to still be close even when we separate for the holidays. Promise to keep my gift safe until we come back next year."_

___She blushed. He'd never called her that before._

___"I promise."_

___Goosebumps rose on her skin as his lips pressed on hers..._

"It was like they were each other's second half. My mother likes to say that they could never really be too far away from one another for long periods of time. I remember that he was so sad when she passed away...He truly loved her, so when she went away, it was as if he had lost a big part of himself...oh, I'm sorry, that was probably what you weren't looking for..." Fleur looked self-accosting, like she was reprimanding herself for being so depressing.

"Oh! No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so personal."

"No, it's fine..." She sighed and went back to flashing her smile. "It's a type of love that I believe everyone wants to have. They were always very happy together. That's how I remember them."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Of course." She surveyed the pots, pans, and platters of food and grabbed her wand, lifting the plates and containers up. She looked back at Hermione, "Can you please tell them that the meal is ready?"

She nodded and made her way into the front room.

–

Ninety seconds until midnight.

Ron was wrapped up tightly in his coat and staring up at the sky, at the fireworks Bill and Fleur were setting off. He didn't know how this all worked or why this had been considered a good idea, cold air whipping at his face, snow on the sand, and fireworks up above. Still, it was worth seeing George cheer and whoop like that. He turned away from Harry and Teddy. "Hermione!"

She was standing standing a little ways away from her parents and staring up at the night sky, the colors illuminating her face in different hues. It wasn't like any part of her had changed greatly over the last few months, but still it was like seeing a...friend he hadn't seen in awhile.

Sixty seconds until midnight.

"Hi!" She yelled as he came up to her. They stood together and looked up. There was a grin and a dreamy look on her face. She looked beautiful.

"Listen!" He yelled above the booming sounds over his head. "Before the year is up, I have to ask you something!"

She looked over at him, a bit taken aback at his opener. "...What is it?"

___"In any case, why do you think that accusing Blaise of something he's never taken a part of makes you any better than the people who teased Granger?"_

Greengrass' words had been turning themselves in his head over and over again. The shorthand answer he could give was, he really wasn't.

Forty seconds until midnight.

"You haven't been around as often as you were the beginning of the year. Head stuff has taken over your life."

A red firecracker exploded and showed a guilty look on her face. "I know. It's not just Head stuff though—N.E.W.T.S too...and stuff! But, I'm really sorry—but," she gave his arm a soft hit, made even softer with the thickness of his coat, "you guys haven't been around either because of all your practices!"

"That's because Harry is evil!" He joked.

She laughed and looked behind him to see if the topic in question had overheard. He hadn't; he was still holding baby Teddy and pointing at the fireworks. His godson's hair seemed to be changing a bit more quickly than it had throughout the rest of the night.

Thirty seconds.

"I'm sorry. But this means you'll win the House Championship this year, right?"

___"Why don't you just ask her?"_

"Fifteen seconds!" Bill yelled out to the rest of the group.

"Yeah." He whispered. "You have to promise to visit more!"

"Okay! I will! ...I'll make it one of my resolutions."

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The cheers rose up around them as the fireworks ended their blazing display. They watched George run into the ocean, hopping and punching the air yelling his twin's name and wishing him a happy new year.

"Happy New Year, Hermione. You better keep your promise."

"Happy New Year. I will."

**–**

******"SECOND AND THIRD RAIDS REVEAL MORE DEATH EATER FINDINGS"**

_–_

___Chapter 9! I don't know how the latter became a focus on how everyone was getting on without the people we lost in HP&DH, but I thought it would be good for continuity I guess. I liked the flashback with Blaise and Hermione because it had really tripped me up in its initial stages, but now has become something really good._

___Um...if you're not a smoker, don't do it. Me mentioning that Percy and Fred is done just to show changes. Percy always seemed high-strung, so it seems natural for him to do it, and Fred is jaded...so yeah._

___That op. ed. piece in the middle of the chapter was just a change from all the official news articles I've been writing. Super fun._


	10. Chapter 10

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

"Girl, I want you to know

I can't get you out of my head, my head, my head.

Girl, I want you to know,

I don't even know what you did, you did, you did—

But I love it."

"Out Of My Head"_-_Lupe Fiasco (ft. Trey Songz),_ Lazers_

* * *

___His mother handed back the gift Hermione had given him, her favorite ring molded to look like a red rose, and watched him place it back in his pocket. They were still dressed in the clothes they had worn to visit his father._

___She had lapsed into silence, but her eyes looked over at him from above the rim of her wineglass. It was a method he had seen her use to avoid conversations with some of her husbands, but he knew what it meant for him._

___She did not share genuine excitement over his mate's gift and Blaise knew it was only a matter of time before she said so. He'd rather she just say she didn't like it or understand the reason behind giving these types of gifts instead of being...passive-aggressive about it._

___"I do not agree with your decision to wait...I think it is more important that the two of you complete The Mark—and quickly."_

___Blaise hadn't been expecting that. He should've though._

He hadn't thought he would have lasted being away from her for so long, but somehow he had. Of course there were moments when he was worried. He had become strongly observant of his fingernails and he stayed up late at night and instructed his favorite house elf to secret him sleeping potions so he could be without dreams of her. Whatever he had felt was necessary had worked; the difference in his unexpected departure in August and his arrival in December had been noticeable and he could feel everyone breathing a sigh of relief at seeing his restored state of mind.

However, no matter how happy he was to speak Italian fluidly and freely, eat curlurgiones, and walk around the barren rows of grapevines, he had missed her, and it was obvious because apparently he had shown her gift one time too many.

And she had missed him. He could tell; it wasn't just the smile she gave him when she walked through the portal door, breathtakingly beautiful and wonderful to his eyes as always.

___He had brought it up on the second day during their dinner and she hadn't said anything at the time, but apparently, she had chosen this moment to do so. "Sharing my decision to wait with Hermione with you wasn't for your approval."_

___"...I understand your feelings towards this, and I know that it is important to you—and I believe that wanting her to wait is important to her as well. And if things were going well, I would not encourage this; I would agree whole-heartedly. I __want ____t____o agree whole-heartedly. But, it has been __months ____since you Marked her...and I am worried. You do not know how worried I have been since the day I sent you to school."_

___"She's my mate and if this is what she wants to do, I'm willing to go along with it. She deserves to feel like this is normal." The look he gave her was a bit of a warning to not push her opinion, to drop the subject._

The first way he was able to tell was the fact that she was wearing his cufflinks. They protruded awkwardly from the sleeve of the striped sweater she wore and greeted him with a catching and glimmering of the light.

___"Normal?" She blinked at the word, as if trying to remember its meaning. "How long will you completing The Mark take if you want to do things normally? Do you think you can wait for her to return your affections forever?"_

The second way he could tell was the way she had interrupted him telling her about how his holiday went, a question she herself had initiated, with a kiss. Softly at first, just her lips on his and her little puffs of breath he could feel when she would pull away. But somehow, she got into it, got a bit more confident with what she was doing. Her tongue swiped across his tentatively and her fingers buried into his hair. She took advantage of the moment he momentarily pulled away for air, quickly dipping her tongue inside his mouth and pulling it out, unused to initiating the feeling. He felt a bit hotter, but he didn't think the fire he had started just before she had arrived had anything to do with it...

___"How long she decides to wait is none of your concern."_

___Her eyebrows folded in anger and she stood quickly. "—__Never ____say that to me ____ever____again! It __is____my business; there is not a day that goes by that I do not worry—it's only because I know you'd think I was...__smothering____you that I do not send you a letter everyday! But if you do not complete The Mark on her, you will lose your mind."_

___"I remember how important—"_

___"You will ____lose ____your mind and your headmistress will send you back here! __I____ will be the one to take care of you until I am visiting ____two ____graves at the first of every new year." His mother was close to tears, he could tell._

___"...I believe what she wants is right. And the day she chooses to love me back, I want her to be happy with that decision," he said in a low, calm voice. His eyes focused on his fingernails, to make sure they were normal. "Papa would agree with me."_

___That gave her pause. "He would, eventually, but he would also tell you the same thing I am telling you now. I ____do ____understand the want to have a normal romance, I do. But this situation does not allow for you to take things normally... You and your mate, er, Hermione, can have a normal romance, there is a chance for love to grow, but it can grow ____after ____you complete The Mark."_

She pulled away and looked up at him, a shy and embarrassed smile on her lips and a small blush on her cheeks. She was searching his expression for approval and he gladly gave it to her with a smile. Her chocolate eyes shined and he could swim in them. He gripped her waist as he felt her body press against his and her hands make their way underneath his shirt. Her palms were warm and the smell of her hair was fragrant, the smell of blackberries hitting his nose in the dead of winter. He didn't know if he was supposed to continue with his story, and he could admit he was still a little taken aback. But he was happy because one thing was clear:

He hadn't done anything this time. All of that had happened because she wanted to do so...

___"You cannot forget that you do not have a year to pretend that this can be done normally." She moved towards him, her small, black-gloved hands clasping around his large, calloused ones. "Mi auero, if you do not complete The Mark, it will be the same as if she had refused when you first approached her. If The Mark you give her begins to be too weak and you don't complete it, you'll begin to change anyway. You ____cannot____ forget that and you should try to do it before the school year is over—regardless of what you've agreed and the want for...____normalcy____..."_

* * *

******"SHACKLEBOLT TO MAKE PUBLIC ADDRESS"**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—Head of the Auror Division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Kingsley Shacklebolt, has announced a press conference scheduled for this upcoming Friday at noon. This conference comes days after the finding of two Death Eater fraction cells in Middlebourgh, Great Britain on New Year's Day. Shacklebolt is expected to address the department's early findings in the ongoing investigation and those from September's Wales raids, as well as future plans to work with the French and German Ministries of Magic.**

******" 'We at the Minister's office are excited to learn of progress the Auror Division has made in the past five months. Shacklebolt and the other Aurors are very hard workers and we know that what they report will aid the Ministry's efforts in continuing initiatives to bring stability to Wizarding Britain,' said a representative of The Office of the Minister of Magic.**

******"In lieu of Shacklebolt's press conference, several radio stations will be giving live coverage of the press conference and ****____****The Daily Prophet ********will be printing a special evening addition of the news detailing the highlights and analyses of...**

* * *

******"RECESS CALLED FOR MALFOY-LESTRANGE DEATH EATER TRIAL"**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—The Malfoy-Lestrange trial has been placed in recess until after Auror Division Director Kingsley Shacklebolt's press conference on Friday. The trial was expected to continue its first week back from holiday with former Death Eater Rudolphous Lestrange's testimony. Both Ministry prosecutors and Malfoy and Lestrange's legal team believe Shacklebolt's findings will play a large role in the continued proceedings against the former Death Eater leaders.**

******"Minister Scrimgeour and many other Ministry officials present at the trials are expected to attend the conference. Amongst these officials include..."**

* * *

___"...In the last four months, Aurors have been targeting and investigating various areas in Wizarding Britain to observe and monitor. These areas have been chosen by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the basis of their population of magical and non-magical persons. As a result of our selective process, we have ____gained a wealth of information and have been successful in dismantling three raids in two different areas. I would like to thank the efforts of Aurors from the Ministry of Magic who have worked hard in the days since the end of the war, as well as Aurors from the French Ministry of Magic..."_

___"What we have found from those apprehended is that many of the Death Eaters that defected in the Battle of Godric's Hollow, the last battle site of the war, have regrouped with one another. The individuals that make up these fraction cells may include missing top-ranking Death Eaters and the new recruits of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who survived or defected and fled the final battle. However, it is unclear how many of these individuals have found and rejoined into new groups._

___"However, I strongly believe that few of these newly-formed groups are working under a unified objective. The Middlebourgh raids showed us that while it is possible that cells may work very closely with one another and even find a common goal, it is possible that some of objectives of these groups differ from the first group found in Wales. It is possible that a lack of single leadership may be responsible for this disorganization. In any case, I do believe in an increase of efforts towards finding as many of these groups as quickly as possible..."_

* * *

******"SHACKLEBOLT PRESS CONFRENCE REVEALS DISORGANIZATION AMONGST FACTION GROUPS"**

* * *

******"FRENCH MINISTER OF MAGIC PROMISES CONTINUED AIDE TO AUROR DIVISION"**

* * *

******"OFFICALS CONTINUE TO CALL FOR CHANGES TO HANDLING FUTURE DEATH EATER TRIALS"**

* * *

******"WHAT DOES SHACKLEBOLT PRESS CONFERENCE MEAN FOR SCRIMGEOUR?"**

* * *

******"THE SHACKLEBOLT EFFECT: THE MALFOY-LESTRANGE TRIAL"**

* * *

Harry put down his copy of ___The Daily Prophet_'s late edition coverage and gave out an irritated puff of breath. The two of them, he and Hermione stared at him, their faces expressing frustration as well, but what preoccupied his mind was different from that of his friends.

Ron had come to a few conclusions over the holiday.

Number One: A big part of him still really, clearly, liked Hermione.

Maybe he had been ignoring something that was still lingering from the summer...or from the past two years he had spent juggling platonic and non-platonic feelings for her.

...No, it was from the summer. She had started it, finally kissing him and then coming up to him a few hours later to say that she hadn't really meant it and they were better off as friends. And he, embarrassed and hurt—he could admit that, that his feelings had been hurt—had agreed, but had decided on the second day of fighting, about a month later since that conversation and every semi-awkward conversation since, to change his mind. If the two of them survived, he was going to go up to her and ask her to just see where they could go if they got together.

She looked serious and thoughtful as always, but wary as well. And she was biting her lip, worried.

"I guess me defeating Voldemort didn't really fix anything."

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded him. "Yes it did! You were able to stop the war once and for all. Things would be worse by now if Voldemort was still around."

Their best friend gave a wry smile. "I know...I guess I'm just beating myself up because I can't help with whatever the Aurors are going through." His fingers ran over the groove of his scar.

"Well, stop it." She fell back unto the mattress, ___his _mattress on his and Harry's bunk bed, seemingly annoyed with the cycling conversation they had been having. Those soft curls of hers framed her face wonderfully and when her tongue ran over her lips, he fought to remember what they had felt like on his. His sheets would probably smell like her later on and he didn't know if he was happy about that. Or if he ___should _be happy about that. "You should be happy that only one of the articles mentioned your name."

"I suppose that's true." He turned to the article. "Blah blah blah, 'after his admission of conspiracies against Harry Potter'."

"And Shacklebolt sounds like he knows exactly what the Magical Law Enforcement is supposed to be doing about the Death Eaters. And he's got aid from France at least. I'm not trying to be mean when I say this, but there are other things to worry about."

"Like N.E.W.T.s?" He offered to keep up appearances.

Number Two: In waiting for a good chance to come up and talk to her, he had likely missed the chance to go up and talk to her. He had let too many moments slip by because of stupid things. Like her leaving for school early when McGonagall's letter came. And those times after dinner in the beginning of the year when she stayed cooped up in the library or didn't say anything when everyone else was talking. And their schedules weren't really the same anymore (bloody Ancient Runes) and then the class loads and Quidditch season and just her being busy. And on the one day it was finally the two of them alone, Hogsmeade weekend, she had left early...and he saw her talking to Blaise Zabini and feelings—concern, frustration, jealousy—came up.

"Yes. Like N.E.W.T.s. And finals. And for you guys, the Quidditch playoffs. We've had a really normal year so far and we're almost done with it. So, why don't we just try to be normal Hogwarts students, worry about normal things, and finish the year? Besides, when we finish, you two will probably train as Aurors anyway, right?"

"Right. I'll get to know about the Aurors and Death Eaters full-time. Not like I really talk about anything else anyway." Harry grinned. "And what will you do?"

"I'll..." her eyes slid over to her wrist and for a moment she stiffened, like she had suddenly realized something. But almost immediately she took a deep, quick breath and relaxed. "I'll probably be able to do something."

"Of course. Hermione, you'll probably be able to do anything you want. No place will turn away the brightest witch Hogwarts has had in forever." Harry joked.

She smiled at the light ribbing. She was probably happy that her friend was getting out of his pensive mood, even if it was at her expense. "I'll think about it and worry about it after...school.."

The two of them continued on with their light jabbing, his best friend teasing Hermione with mock surprise at her assertion that she hadn't planned the rest of the year out and her half-seriously standing up with herself and reminding him that it was her planning that usually made things work out.

He usually would have joined in and done the same until the two of them started mock fighting or actually fighting and the jokes were done and the moment either gave itself away to Harry mediating or simply annoyance before things picked up again. The familiar pattern between three people who were as close as they were. But he had a feeling that the dynamic wouldn't be the same way it had been before. Before he was sure of who Hermione liked, that it was probably him, but now it probably wasn't true.

Number Three: He had spent the rest of the second quarter and holiday trying to convince himself that they, Hermione and Blaise Zabini, weren't together and he was really just being a bit too obsessed—something kinda stupid Ginny had said to him over break. But if Hermione went off to like some other person, it would probably be for someone like Zabini. Almost every other girl in the bloody school did—hell, if his own mother ever met Zabini, she probably wouldn't shut up about him. She'd probably be in talks with Zabini's mother to adopt him.

And he couldn't stand it because how could Hermione like someone from the one house that made the last six years hell for her? Why would she go for some...___fucking _guy she barely knew anything about? Bloody hell she had a thing for guys with accents—it had been Vicktor Krum back in forth year, and now Zabini.

Why not ___him_?

The door opened and Seamus walked in with Dean close behind. "Okay, friends. You've spent an hour here whispering to ye'selves. No more serious talk." Seamus walked over to their little area, a tray of food from the kitchens in hand. "It's our first week back and Dean n' me have come up with the perfect remedy for the N.E.W.T. studying we've had to get used to again—especially for Potions."

"Simplest remedy, really." Dean said, placing down another tray and a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Simplest: The more stressed we feel, the harder we should party and muck about on Friday nights—" he spied the reprimanding look on Hermione's face, "and ___then _we'll study really hard on Saturday and Sunday. No worries, Hermione. It's foolproof. We'll all want to party anyway, so if we get it done in one day, we'll be focused for the rest of the weekend."

"Yeah. 'Course, we probably won't be studying tomorrow after the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match."

Seamus handed her a cup and indicated for her to pass it down. He took the cup from her and swore he felt a current of electricity up his arm at the brief touch.

She didn't act any differently.

He didn't join in with the rest of them—Harry, Seamus, Dean and everyone else from their year and his sister coming around—convincing her to stay for longer than a half hour.

No. ___No. _He had to stop caring so much. That's what he had resolved to do on New Year's—not care about who Hermione liked because there was nothing that he could do about it. He hadn't come clean at the right time and if he did so now, he'd probably only hear the same things she had told him before. There was only so much he could take. He didn't need to be told twice or walk around like some stupid, love-sick wanker, and he didn't think there would be a day she would maybe feel the same. He was going to have to let whatever he was feeling go and just be a friend to her...

And that was the fourth thing he realized: He didn't think he could. Or would.


	11. Chapter 11

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

******Quidditch Playoffs Game 1: Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff**

******Ravenclaw**

******(200 to 100)**

* * *

******"MINISTER SCRIMGEOUR STEPS DOWN"**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—The Office of the Minister of Magic announced early this morning the resignation of Rufus Scrimgeour from the title of Minister of Magic.**

******" 'I am honoured to have been asked to again undertake the title and responsibility of Minister of Magic at a great, yet turbulent time in Wizarding history. I wish the best for my colleagues as Wizarding Britain continues to move forward after the dark days of the Second Wizarding War,' said Scrimgeour in a written statement.**

******"Scrimgeour had been ousted as Minister during the Death Eater coup on the Ministry of Magic at the height of the Second Wizarding War and replaced by Death Eater supporter Pius Thicknesse. In the weeks following the end of the war and the reclaiming of the ministry by the Order of the Phoenix, Scrimgeour reassumed his role as minister. Although in power for only five months, Scrimgeour had overseen efforts to dismantle the Pro-Pureblooded laws Thicknesse put in place as well as propose new initiatives in the prosecution of the future Death Eaters and supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.**

******"No representatives from the Office of the Minister of Magic were available for further questioning at the time this story went to press."**

* * *

Ron finished checking around the library and finally made it to his destination, placing his books down on the polished, albeit slightly scratched, table and waited. It was better it was like this, just him and the guy he had been looking for and the girl he was trying to avoid. He wasn't willing to stay here all night, so he hoped that he wouldn't have to force the conversation to happen. Even if it wasn't that arsehole Malfoy, talking to a Slytherin—even one he only knew in passing—made his skin crawl.

Terence Higgs looked up from his parchment, likely his Ancient Runes assignment, a confused and somewhat annoyed look on his face. Clearly, he was really concentrating on his work. "Weasley."

"Higgs." Ron pulled out a chair and shifted it to the head of the table beside the Slytherin. "Mind if I sit."

His expression clearly said that he ___did _mind, that if he was caught by someone in his house or worse, someone on his Quidditch team, he'd probably wouldn't hear the end of it, but it gave away to resignation just the same. "Fine." He didn't watch Ron take off his robe and settle into the crinkled library seat, just started back on his work, shifting his glance from his parchment to a small book he had cracked open. Their expressions probably matched, blank-faced with one-track thoughts, and an puckered eyebrow.

The two of them sat in silence, but it became apparent that Ron not doing any work of his own and just sitting in the chair and brooding bothered the Slytherin. "Something on your mind, Weasley? I can't seem to concentrate now that you're sitting around me. So say what you have to say and then bugger off."

Ron could respect the sentiment. It wasn't like he was enjoying this either and if the tables were turned, he'd probably want to be distanced from Higgs too.

He ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward a bit. "There's something I wanna know."

Higgs' expression became very perplexed in its guessing. "...About how badly we're going to beat your team this weekend? Because you don't have to ask about that—you'll know soon enough."

His brow furrowed. "No, not about that yo—" he was about to say 'you bloody git', but held his tongue at the very last second. "I'm asking about Hermione."

"Hermione?" Higgs rested his quill down for a moment, trying to figure out what the seventh-year Gryffindor was angling at. "What about her? Did she send you to me because of something about our meeting tomorrow or something? Why didn't she just owl me if she wanted to cancel?"

"No. She didn't send me to tell you she was canceling your meeting. She doesn't even know I'm here." This wasn't working out very well for him. "Do you," he looked around and dropped his voice to a whisper, "do you talk to her about stuff other than Ancient Runes?"

The look on his face was suspicious. "...Sometimes. Why?"

"Because she's bee—that's not really important. Does she talk about guys she likes?"

"No. She's pretty focused on our assignments when we meet. And if we're not talking about Babbling's assignments, we're talking about some other class that drives us crazy. I don't know, maybe after next week's game, we'll talk about that. Why? Do you know about any guy that would maybe like her?"

"Maybe," he mumbled.

Higgs' brown eyes widened and a knowing, haughty and mocking smile showed up on his face. "...Do ___you _like her?"

"N—just, forget I fucking mentioned anything." He'd be damned if he did something stupid like blush at the accusation, or, er, question.

Higgs scoffed, closed the book he was reading, and pushed his chair back and gathered up his work. "You must be pretty gone. I guess for anyone else, it would be kind of a crazy day to think about having a crush on her. But, you've known her since first year." His hand slapped against the redhead's shoulder.

"Listen, don't worry about it. I'll just make sure that Slytherin wins the match this weekend and you can spend the rest of the day and the following week thinking about it. You won't have any time to worry about her." He shrunk his supplies with his wand, stuffed them in his pocket, and walked away.

* * *

"Did you really just ask Higgs if he knew if Granger liked Blaise?" Daphne's hand rested on Weasley's shoulder, the same one that Higgs had just touched. It was funny; he towered over her usually, but this time, with him sitting down, she actually looked a little taller...or maybe he just looked smaller somehow.

His head snapped up to stare at her before directing his gaze back at surface of the library table. His finger ran over a slight scratch in the wood. "And how did you hear about that? Been following me?"

"No." The petite Slytherin set her books down and took off the large cardigan she was wearing to settle in the same seat Higgs had left unoccupied. "I was in the library and saw you when you were walking through the Muggle Superstition section. You looked like you were looking for someone and I figured it was me, so when you walked away, I followed you." Her nude color-painted thumb slipped underneath her Charms textbook but she didn't open it. "Can I ask you a question? ...Are you ___really _against the idea of Blaise and Granger being together because he's a Slytherin...or is it for some other reason?"

He looked over at her. "What d'you mean?"

Her hand smoothed down her hair to stall a little bit, stopping when she reached the bun at the top of her head. She wasn't going to admit that when she was least expecting it this past holiday—quiet moments drinking tea with her grandmother and listening to her old records, watching the house elves running around to get her parents' annual holiday party set up, or practicing casting jinxes and hexes on items and then having her parents' friends' young children set them off to test how well they went—she would think about Weasley and wonder exactly what the hell his problem was. And in those moments of thinking, she had somehow started thinking that maybe the problem Weasley clearly had wasn't exactly directed towards Blaise or the idea of Hermione and Blaise.

"I mean, are you exactly mad at Blaise or ___about _Blaise, or...are you mad about something else? Because neither of us have caught them doing anything that they aren't supposed to be doing—only Heads stuff and staring..."

"I'm not mad at or," his hand lifted to make quote marks, "___about _Blaise. I'm worried about Hermione."

"But ___why_? What does it matter? I mean, isn't this the future you helped to make—a future where if a Pureblood like Blaise or a Half-blood—I don't know which you are—and a Muggle-born like Hermione maybe liked each other, they can be together without one or the other being targeted?" She leaned forward a bit, invested in the answer, and was happy that he didn't pull away.

"...Can I ask ___you _a question?"

She couldn't tell if that was supposed to have been said nastily or what. "...Sure."

Eyes focused intently on the table, but looking through the oak, his nostrils started flaring slightly. "Why do you seem to be okay with whatever Blaise wants to do? You're in Slytherin and Pureblooded, right? He's your friend and you two hang out a lot, right? And everyone probably already thinks you're together because of whatever." His hand pointed at her face, indicating the obvious. "Why aren't you upset?"

She sighed and stared at the ceiling up above. She felt like she was explaining something to a child, ironic given that the first and last time she had spoken to Blaise about the topic, he had pretty much done the same to her. "The first reason I'm not upset is because even though I guess people in other houses think we both look really good together, I don't see him like that. It's not that I don't understand what he sometimes does to girls, I do. I even think it's funny sometimes depending on who he does it to. But it doesn't matter because my brain doesn't connect the idea of Blaise and being attracted to him." She felt her lips set into a thin line. Remembering things she didn't like to. "And after what Blaise did for me in fifth year, I'll always be willing to take his side in any kind of argument."

Ron looked over at her after the silence went on for too long. "...And what'd he do exactly?"

Her eyes snapped back to attention, her mind thinking about Marcus Flint and...___stuff _and hating it. She had said too much and she wasn't going to get into it. Daphne pushed her chair back, put on her cardigan, and gathered her books once more. She schooled her face into the Slytherin trademark mask of nonchalance and superiority; it was better than showing any kind of emotion at all. "Maybe later, Weasley."

* * *

******"MINISTRY OFFICIALS CONVENE TO APPOINT NEW MINISTER"**

* * *

******"MALFOY-LESTRANGE TRIAL RECESS EXTENDED"**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—In the wake of Scrimgeor's resignation from office, the Death Eater trial for Lucius Malfoy and Rudolphous Lestrange has been extended for another week. The call for an extended recess came from the defendants' legal team and has been accepted by both prosecutors and the residing judge L.W. Reignor.**

******" 'While the request for an extension came from the legal staff of Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Lestrange, both parties were in agreement about the extended length of time,'" said Reignor.**

******"It is unclear if the defendants plan on refining their argument in lieu of Head of the Auror Division of the Department of Magical Law's Kingsley Shacklebolt's press conference on Friday. Shacklebolt's admittance on the possibility of fugitive Death Eaters..."**

* * *

She saw Blaise's fingers peeking at the top of the newspaper before they actually pulled away the article (******"GERMAN MINISTER SAYS IT WILL CONTINUE PLANS OF ALLIANCE WITH MINISTRY OF MAGIC"**) she was reading. He settled down beside her and she adjusted without even really thinking about it, her head resting on his shoulder and his arm slung over her. The hand holding her reading material shook it teasingly, the front page photo of the former Minister of Magic blurring slightly. "You've been reading these a bit too intently lately."

Her arm feebly reached out for the paper, but didn't fight when it was placed out of her reach. "I know, but it's really important. Scrimgeour resigning changes...practically everything! Everything's been put on hold—I can barely even guess who'd they pick for a new minister."

"I know this is important to you, but I can remember you telling me that you told Potter something along the lines of there being more immediate things to think about in the coming months. Like N.E.W.T.s." His finger pointed to their studying table where their books were strewn about, and their respective mugs of coffee and tea.

It was true that the words had come out of her mouth last week. However, she wasn't exactly happy that her words were working against her, especially since there ___were _things she had to think about.

Somehow, telling Harry that he had other things to be concerned with reminded her of the thing she herself was unable to ignore for too long: her relationship with Blaise. Specifically, what was going to happen with the two of them after their last semester at Hogwarts was over. If they completed The Mark, what would happen next?

Marriage?

Children?

Was she ready to already start having little Blaises and Hermiones running around everywhere?

No, not really. Her own parents had been together for six years (three years of dating, three years of marriage) before she had come along. She had always imagined that when she found "The One" for her, the pattern would be similar. Time to get to know that person better through the fights. Of course, she hadn't imagined finding "The One" until at least a year after Hogwarts.

She sighed in concentration and shifted her weight again, snuggling closer in Blaise's side and wrapping her arm around him, his hand sweeping her curls over one shoulder and playing with the tips. The only sounds she could really hear came from the fire crackling in the hearth.

Little Blaises and Hermiones running around...Was that what he wanted so quickly? Wasn't this something they were supposed to be talking about?

___Hold on just one minute! _A voice in her head, her voice of reason that sounded oddly smaller than other times it interrupted her train of thought. ___We getting ahead of ourselves a bit, yeah?_

She straightened herself up a bit, agreeing with the sentiment. She looked over at Blaise, who was skimming through the paper, only taking time to possibly read only the opening paragraph of every piece.

Honestly, she was surprised that her mind was skipping an important step: being in love with Blaise. Call it the hopeless mindset of a romantic. She had only started putting her first resolution, trying to determine if she could see herself being in love with him, to the test a week ago. He looked so...different to her, little things she wondered if other people would see. Sardinia had been kind to him again, his olive skin a much more noticeable and healthier glow than it had been before he had left; his eyes, to her, looked different...bluer, if possible. Of course, she didn't know how much of his looks or his overall presence had played a role in her kissing him like that, impulsively and excitedly, cutting off his strain of conversation about something or other he had been talking about, something she had asked for...some reason.

Another sound, one that she wasn't aware of, escaped from her lips.

"I would pay much, much more than a Knut for your thoughts," he murmured distractedly.

"Hmm?"

"You've sighed twice now," his voice was slightly teasing as he put the newspaper to the side, "something on your mind?"

"...I guess...you're right. I ___have _been a little too focused on a lot of things lately." She'd be damned to admit to what she had been thinking, the new thought that had crossed her mind. Maybe it was best not to give him any ideas.

He moved his arm off her shoulders. "...What you need is a distraction, something to get excited about." His accent was a bit thicker, like how it usually became when he became tired. Except, in this case, he was excited—she could just _tell_.

"Or both." The first thing that crossed her mind was the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match that weekend. "But...how is Quidditch distracting? It's been happening all year."

He snorted. "I'm not talking about Quidditch. What about...something different?"

"Like what?"

He turned to her fully. "Would you like to go on a date? With me?"

A warmth spread across her cheeks before she could stop it. The question had been abrupt, after all. "A date?"

"Yes. On the next Hogsmeade weekend, you and I will spend a few hours, or the whole time, together. We'll walk into all the shops you like and all the shops I like. And I'll take you to my favorite place to eat."

...He really had a way of putting things together. She couldn't deny that a great part of her was convinced; she seemed to never get tired being in Blaise's company, but maybe they had been getting a little too comfortable spending time together in just the common room. It was true that the situation would only become more complicated should someone else find out about them, but some part of her was excited at the idea of them being someplace different...together. The trip they had made into Honeydukes together back in October ___had _been fun, the two of them going from aisle to aisle and barrel to barrel pointing out what they liked, hated, hadn't tried yet, and what would have been good for McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey.

But still..."What about...everyone?" ___Our friends_, she meant to say. Hermione knew that Blaise would say that Daphne didn't mind if they didn't spend the day together, but it was harder for her because her friends would, especially since Hogsmeade weekends had always been their thing.

"You can tell them that McGonagall asked us to help chaperone. It wouldn't be any further from the truth." He was referring to their last meeting with the headmistress, and her plans for the next weekend. "Or that you need to fix your wand. That's even better."

"...But, we should also hang out with our friends for the first few hours and then meet up later...so they don't suspect something."

The grin he gave her was mischievous. "Okay, we'll spend the first half of the day with them. And then we'll meet up around one outside of Honeydukes...for our date."

Their ___first _date.

The words, a husky declaration from him, sent a thrill up her spine, one she couldn't shake. In spite of all the times she had broken the rules with her friends, this felt different. Naughty...exciting. Another flush rose on her skin and the corners of her lips curved up a bit.

Blaise had caught on to her unspoken feelings and the pink that was deepening into a slight red on the apples of her cheeks. "I think I may have just corrupted you with such a plan."

It was her turn to scoff. "Likely. I've been sneaking around way before this."

He gave a hum at her nonchalance. His eyes looked into her brown ones, a perfect deep blue darkening ever so slowly. She felt a warmth gather around her in the air. "Now that you have something to be excited about, I believe you now need something to distract you." His arm moved from her behind her shoulder and slid down the curve of her back, the other propping him up as his lips met hers. Her back sunk into the couch and her eyes became half-lidded at the contact. She felt a slight scratch against her ear as one warm, large hand buried itself in the strands of her relaxed curls and the other cupped her bottom. Somehow, she became aware that his Veela side was somewhat responsible for this moment, but her tongue was too busy doing things with his tongue and her fingers were running up his arms too much to be bothered.

Her worries and questions popped up in the back of her mind again in that pragmatic voice of hers.

She promptly told her voice of reason to shut the bloody hell up.

His back arched to get closer to him. Blaise's direction guided hers to the familiar crook in the leather couch and in her...haste to get there, the back of her skirt began to bunch up. The hand that had been in her hair joined its brother and his mouth in their trek down her body. His mouth on her cheek, her jaw, her neck; his hands tracing her curves before settling on her thighs and trailing up, sliding underneath the hem of her skirt and running over her hips and the underside of her bum. Small but heavy puffs of breath coming from her lips and her hands pulling at his tucked in shirt so that she could pull it off...not let him go...something.

She couldn't lie to herself. Her anticipation of his next move made her feel like the tightness, she felt...somewhere...everywhere...was going to explode into a million stars.

She felt his fingers curl and pinch at the material of the stockings she was wearing against the cold that day.

And suddenly, he pulled away abruptly, like he had just gained his senses.

He looked guilty for all of five seconds before he looked over at her. His eyes danced over her body and she could only imagine what she looked like with her hair wild, lips bruising, clothing rumpled, and cheeks enflamed. He gave her another smile, an embarrassed one giving way to haughtiness it felt like. "I think that's enough of a distraction for you." He leaned down to give her an innocent kiss on her cheek, handed her back her newspaper, and walked the few steps back to the study table.

___...What just happened?_

* * *

******Quidditch Playoffs Game 2: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin**

******Slytherin**

******(273 to 200)**

* * *

___Hahaha. Blaise, that cheeky Italian._

___Mmm..My writer's block for Blaise and Hermione seems to trying to will itself to come to an end. Yay for me ____and yay for you! Hope you liked the chapter! R&R._


	12. Chapter 12

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

Translation(s)/Termionology:

___Buonasura _(Italian): "Good evening"

___Semplice come quello _(Italian): "Simple as that."

___Signor/Signora _(Italian): "Mister"/"Missus"

___(Source: Google Translate)_

* * *

"I'm gone and going, into the deep end,

far over my head,

it's so unfair.

I'm gone and it's showing

all over my skin.

Everyone knows, gone and it shows,

but, I don't care."

—"I Don't Care", Elle Varner, ___Perfectly Imperfect_

* * *

******"MALFOY-LESTRANGE DEATH EATER TRIAL TO RECONVENE FRIDAY"**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—The Death Eater hearing for Lucius Malfoy and Rudolphous Lestrange will begin once more this coming Friday. The trial continues from its week-long recess as requested by the defendants' legal team with Lestrange taking the stand.**

******"Although the trial will only be commencing for one day before the weekend, Judge Reginor denied requests from the prosecution to extend the recess for one more day..."**

* * *

******"MINISTRY APPOINTMENT COMMITEE RUMORED TO ANNOUNCE THE NEW MINISTER IN THE COMING DAYS"**

* * *

He was looking at her with expectation, placing his napkin in his lap, hand brushing against the front buttons of his plaid shirt.

And she was looking at everything else and trying to fight the smile on her face as her tongue swept across her mouth for any bits of sauce on the corners of her mouth. "You're right. This may be the best spaghetti sauce I've ever had."

"Second best." He corrected her with a smile, taking the first bite out of his meatball, nodding in approval at the taste.

She looked up at him, a teasing look in her eye. "And what's the best?"

He leaned towards her and his blue eyes looked over at the rest of the restaurant before trailing back to the white-clothed tables and their patterned dining sets and short vase of single, short-stemmed roses. "Mine," the quarter-Veela whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh." She smiled at the tickle of his breath on her ear. "I guess I should have expected that."

"I don't like to brag; it's better to let my food speak for itself. Don't worry—you're going to be able to taste for yourself one day." He straightened up. "I promise. But they'll be really happy to hear that you liked it."

"They" were Signore Erammo and Signora Fausta d'Francesco, the owners of Buonasera, the Italian restaurant located the next street over in Hogsmeade Square. For anyone who had been coming to the village as often as she had, it was pretty well-known that this street was cut off from students, and in her adhering to the rules and preoccupation with making sure Harry never got caught when he still wasn't allowed their third year or recruiting other students for Dumbledore's Army fifth year, there hadn't been many times when she had looked across the alley between Gladrags Wizardwear and the hairdressing salon and wondered what lied beyond the imposed boundary. But from the short walk it had taken to reach the restaurant, she now knew that it was much like the square itself, except there were more residencies interspersed with the businesses—mostly bed and breakfasts, but also a healer and a tailor along with restaurants like Buenosera.

The two of them being there was part of Blaise's plan for their date, the details being lunch at a place he had had discovered years ago (the location of said eating place and circumstances in which he found it he had obviously been mum about all week), then an hour at Hermione place(s) of choice and then his place(s) of choice. Buenosera was small and warm, perfect for getting away from the cold wind promising one final snowstorm before spring, with brick walls, a thick aroma of the same spaghetti sauce, and what she assumed magicked vines creeping along the walls.

They had only been there for a short while, but already she could see why this was Blaise's favorite place and why he risked reprimand for going here. He acted much like he did when they were in the privacy of the Heads Quarters, the only difference being he was interacting with people less like their classmates and more like him: freely and fluidly speaking Italian with the staff and selecting their lunch from the menu entrees. She could tell how much everyone in the restaurant liked him from the stories they told about him, the inquiries about his progression in his schoolwork and extracurriculars, and the grins they received from their waiter when the food had been placed down.

___But, of course they do_. Even though she had only known him for awhile, six months in February, it was clear that they recognized the things that made Blaise, Blaise. She knew how impossible it was to know him and not love him—___wait wait wait wait wait, what? What?!_

"Hermione? What's wrong?" Blaise was looking at her now, his face concerned.

"Huh?" His voice snapping her back to reality made her realize that she was blinking a bit too wildly, her body seizing up and head shaking in disbelief. "...Nothing," her mind was already reeling itself in, not ready for the thinking her stray thoughts so desperately desired. "Nothing. I was just thinking that...this is a lot of spaghetti."

He smiled. "They don't believe me when I say the Italian the school cooks is passable, so they give me a lot. But whatever we don't eat," he pointed to the large bowl of spaghetti and pot of sauce with his fork, "they'll give us. ___Semplice come quello—_simple as that___._"

She swallowed the bit of spit in her throat hard, again tasting tomatoes and parsley. "I'm happy...that we came here. I really really like it here...everything's really good." She quieted for fear of saying something else. Part of her felt like careening towards one of the brick walls.

It was almost like she noticed every move his face made as it relaxed at her words and the way he felt as he absorbed her words. Every part of her that could flutter—her stomach again, her...heart—did so as his hand brushed against hers underneath the tablecloth, his thumb running over his cufflinks she wore in her chiffon shirt, and then lifting to wipe a stray bit of sauce at the corner of her mouth. She was praying that he wouldn't suddenly become...aware of what was going on inside her head.

"I'm glad."

She smiled and took another piece of meatball and forkful of her lunch, the flavors on her tongue doing nothing for the blush she felt spreading on her face or the butterflies in her stomach.

She begged her heart to just push the thought running back for now, to understand that it was too soon but she would be ready later. Much much much later.

* * *

"Have you considered that maybe, just ___maybe_, she went back to school, Ron, because it's snowing and cold outside, and ___normal _people go inside when that happens? They go inside where it's warm and not walk around Hogsmeade Square twice!" Ginny spat at her brother, a rare moment of her being palpably angry at her older sibling's antics.

"I told you, she said that we should meet up with her when she finished. Hermione wouldn't go back early without telling you guys, right? So let's just...keep looking!" He shuffled in his heavy boots, stomping over the layer of snow on the cobblestones, trying to move away before either his sister or his best mate saw through his lie. He didn't care that the snow was falling down in sheets and that he could feel it seeping through his coat or that Gin was right and Hermione was no longer here...around...

Ron had stayed behind at school that morning, deluding himself to thinking that he'd finish an assignment early and not actually have a lie in for a couple of extra hours, having dreams that he couldn't remember minus the feeling that maybe Hermione was likely in them (he had woken up in too good of a mood for her not to have made an appearance). By the time he had actually dragged himself out of bed and made himself decent, he would probably have only a few hours left to hang out, but that was okay because Hermione would still be there. She had been around a lot this past week as Gryffindor shared a united front of disappointment in being bested by Slytherin in their first game in playoffs. She'd been great and encouraging the entire time, saying things he really believed gave his ego what it was missing, things like "It's just one game; you guys will be ready next time," and he was sure that it would be the same when he finally met up with them.

But he had reached The Three Broomsticks during lunch and she wasn't there. And even though Harry and Gin said she had gone to Ollivander's to fix something that was wrong with her wand, he hadn't believed it. It didn't help that for some reason, the shop had closed early, but not so early that the possibility of her going there wasn't possible. The redhead's gut didn't trust it and he couldn't exactly explain ___why _he didn't trust it because Hermione wasn't a liar, but he just ___didn't_. And it didn't help that the last conversation he had had with Daphne about him targeting Blaise and "the future he helped create" kept running through his mind.

"Ron, the last time we saw her was two hours ago. That was an hour before you showed up and in the past hour, we've just been going to all these random spots! Everybody else is probably back at school. ___She's _probably back at school! I mean—___why _would she go to Madam Pudifoot's? Do you remember exactly who goes there? You've just been acting craz—" Gin's tirade was cut off with Harry's touch on her shoulder.

"Okay," he sighed heavily, gearing himself up for something he didn't do too often when it came with his best friends—stepping in. "If you're acting like this because you like her—if you ___still _like her—then just tell her, mate. Because maybe you'll feel better when you do. The three of us are covered in snow right now, looking for her when she's not here. Maybe if you tell her now, it'll be different because it's been so long since the last time." He took off his glasses and tried his best to clean them, reaching below his coat for his dry shirt. "You should go to her place when we get back to school, say you want to talk to her alone, and just tell her."

He looked into their faces...and conceded. "...Okay. Okay...let's go back." He walked forward a few steps, his coat absorbing the friendly pounds Harry's hand was beating encouragingly on his chest, already planning on what he was going to say and how he wanted things to...go...

That's when he saw her.

Them. Emerging from...somewhere.

They were both carrying bags. He, a large paper bag, and she, a smaller paper bag in the crux of her left arm. There was something in her left hand, something she was eating between bits of laughter. At something Zabini was saying. As they walked together, not even noticing they were coming towards him.

It wasn't that they were walking so close to one another where everybody could see them, their steps practically in-sync. And it wasn't only that she looked beautiful as always—that she had put on makeup, the red lipstick and that stuff girls put on their eyes, and had put effort into making her hair perfect, the brown curls set into a bun atop of her head. It wasn't that he knew she had tired looking that nice because she usually didn't use or even need makeup. And it certainly wasn't that when she finally noticed the three of them looking at her, that she blushed, embarrassed at being caught.

It was because of the way she had looked at ___him _and then the way she had looked at them. And the way her free hand had sought out Zabini's and she had looked up at him instead of at them, trying to figure out what they could do now that they were caught. Because that was what they were. Caught.

And because he knew that from the way his stomach climbed in his throat and heartbeat was thumping in his ears, there was nothing he could say. She had no idea how obvious it was.

He walked up to them and then past them in a wide circle and then away from them.

* * *

******"WHAT'S NEXT FOR SCRIMGEOUR?"**

* * *

******"THE BIG QUESTION: WHO WILL BE THE ONE?"**

* * *

"Let's just tell them."

Hermione looked up from her plate of leftover spaghetti to look at him. "What?"

He placed his own fork down. He had suggested dinner for them in the Heads Common Room, to avoid another night in The Great Hall. "Let's just tell them. About what's going on. Maybe it will be easier for you—and us."

It was Thursday. Almost a week since Saturday evening when her friends had found them walking hand-in-hand, and for anybody who cared to notice, things were bad between The Golden Trio. Not with Potter, but Weasley. He had been absent from dinner that evening, but had returned Sunday morning, making a point to sit with other classmates—Longbottom and Thomas and others—eat his food quickly and leave, slamming his chair in and practically stomping out of The Great Hall. Of course, that had not only caused enough of a stir at the Gryffindor Table, but had been noticeable amongst other students that cared about what Daphne quipped as being "trouble in paradise". And for the other meals? Completely absent, which was leading to rumors swirling around about Weasley and Hermione fighting, the cause of which was still up for debate. Sodding Hogwarts politics.

Blaise had always known that her friends were important to Hermione and that while she would never let their opinion truly sway the decisions she made, some of the things they did could still affect her. Visibly affect her in a way that had to be worse than if she were capable of ignoring it. She was always tense during meals, her eyes solely fixated on her plate, never inviting a lot of conversation from Potter and the Weasley sister and whomever else felt the need to take sides or be neutral. The rare smile she gave in that hour was tight on her face...except when she caught his eye from across the room. He didn't like it; he'd rather Weasley be angry at him twice over; for him to hate his guts, but not direct his energy towards Hermione. Call him protective because that's exactly what it was.

"But, you said—"

"I know what I said, but maybe now that they know, it will be easier...Maybe we would have had to tell them eventually. Now that they know that we've been keeping a secret from them, I don't want to continue putting a wedge between you and your friends. And I know that Daphne's probably suspecting something too, even though she won't come out and say it at this point. We don't have to tell them everything, but maybe it's best if we tell them ___something_. Maybe if we do, even Weasley will come around."

Of course, everything he was saying was half of the reason for his decision. Up until their return to the square, their date had been perfect, just the two of them wandering around as the snow fell, walking into the grocer they found and going up and down the aisles, grabbing chocolates and dried pieces of fruit. And even when she had panicked and seeing them in the square, she had grabbed for his hand and looked at him as if to ask him what they should do. It had been what he had been waiting for from the very beginning.

And now he was close. ___So _close to her feeling like maybe she loved him, even a little bit for him to finish Marking her. In his mind, Weasely and Potter had always been the factor that he needed to work around if not blatantly face, and if this...situation called for him to face it and face it head-on, then he'd be stupid to not do so. He was Slytherin enough and, admittedly, desperate enough to try to work this to his advantage.

She gave him a smile, relief apparent on her beautiful face. "Okay, but tomorrow? Maybe we should plan what we're going to say."

He smiled at her, taking in the light that glowed off her chestnut-colored curls and toffee-brown eyes and skin. "Of course."

* * *

"Harry, Gin, Ron:

"Can you please come to the Heads' Quarters tomorrow at 8? I have something important I want to share. Thanks.

"~Hermione"

* * *

"Daphne. Be outside the door to Heads Quarter at 8 tomorrow."

* * *

"Are you going?"

He looked up from his neglected assignment into Greengrass' quizzical, expectant face, a folded piece of parchment in between her fingers. He had been trying to avoid Gin and Harry, but seeing as she was neither, he didn't feel the need to walk away or be as mean as he wanted to be.

Still, she had hit a touchy nerve...

"No. I'm not fucking going to their bloody group meeting."

She blinked a bit at his use of words, a hand running through her brunette hair. He knew from her expression that it was a little too much venom to be greeted with. "...Really? I thought you'd want to go. Hear them pretty much say that you were right and everyone else was wrong." The corners of her lips lifted in a small, teasing smile.

Too bad he wasn't receptive. "I don't need to be told that I'm right or be asked for...approval or whatever they think they're gonna say. Have fun." He frowned at his assignment once more.

She hesitated like she wanted to say something, but licked her lips, the words falling short. He looked horrible, to be frank, like his heart had been torn out. She recognized the look on his face; there really wasn't anything ___she _could really say. Without another word, she began to walk away.

He watched her take a few steps away before calling out to her. "It's because you weren't there."

She turned back and took the bait, sitting down in the chair beside him and not bothering to take off her robe. She wasn't going to stay long, but rested her chin in her hand like she was interested in what he was going to say nonetheless. "...What do you mean?"

"Me, Harry, and Gin saw them on Saturday in Hogsmeade. They were together, out in the open, coming from somewhere when we saw them and they saw us. They're probably going to talk about that. Maybe apologize for snogging each other everywhere in secret, but I'm not going to listen to it."

"So...what? You think that this whole thing is to...to, what, convince us to be understanding about the fact that they're dating? Because, to be perfectly honest, ___I_," her hands folded at the wrist and she pointed at herself, "don't care. I think you're the only one who needs convincing; your sister and Potter aren't the ones skipping out on meals and going around asking people questions about the Head Boy and Head Girl."

He gave her a dark look. "I don't ___need _convincing."

Shaking her hair, the honey-brunette pulled away and stood, her body language conceding to what would have to be a pretty useless effort. There was no point in fighting and taking the brunt of anger about something she wasn't responsible for and had already been saying to him for awhile now. "...Okay. If you say so. ...Maybe it's good that you're not coming; I feel like you'd convince them otherwise or something."

He scoffed. "I couldn't convince her of anything..." His fingertips drummed against the table. "When you go there, look at Hermione just once. You'll see it."

Daphne nodded slowly and left the redhead to stare blankly at his work.

* * *

******"SHACKLEBOLT NAMED AS NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC"**

******"Last evening, officials of the Minister Appointment Committee elected in the choosing of the Minister of Magic released a statement announcing their appointment of Kinglsey Shacklebolt, Head of the Auror Division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The vote was 8 to 3 in favor of the decision.**

******"********'We believe that [Shacklebolt] has shown time and time again that he is worthy of the position. From his work in the war, to his current efforts to bring peace to Wizarding Britain, he shows himself to be a strong force in improving life for the magical population,' the committee said in a written statement.**

******"While ministry protocol calls for a general election of a new minister, a statue called The Swanson-Steinbeck Act of 1945, unofficially known as The Usurper Act, states that in times of great diplomatic stress, a chosen number of Ministry officials are to convene in choosing a new minister. This is the first time the act has been used since its creation at the end of the Muggle World War II..."**

* * *

___A/N: You know how when you're in the middle of writing something and you hit a wall and can't write for days, but the moment you get to that A-HA! breakthrough, you finish something in like...a few hours? Yeah, this is that result of that._

___The first scene was definitely the hardest to write because while I wanted them to be in a restaurant, I didn't know what was going to happen. And after exploring another track and I finally realizing what was going to happen to move the story towards the end and move forward, my fingers and mind decided to take that step and I wasn't prepared all the way because I felt like maybe it was better to wait. But, wow, there it is and I'm realizing that it's totally cool and the ending is better._

___On another note, I'm slowly going to move away from angry, angsty Ron. I hope you're not so pained at the way he's acting that you hate him. He's OOC like Hermione is; he's a bit out of his element like she is. The Quidditch team for Gryffindor lost their match against Slytherin and he's suffering from lost, unrequited love. ____Bare with him (...and me; it's early in the morning and I'm loopy)._

___Forgive any possible mistakes you may read. I'll it clean up sometime during the day. You might not even notice._

___R&R. And truly, thank you lovely readers, and definitely to all the new followers. The little alerts that pop up in my inbox really made me push through to get this out. Never worry—I won't abandon this (cuz I'm realizing that what this sounds like) because I'm just as excited as you are to see where it's going and how it'll end._


	13. Chapter 13

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

Translation(s)/Terminology:

___1) Merda _(Italian): "Shit"

___2) Buno San Valentino_ (Italian): "Happy Valentine's Day"

___(Source: Google Translate)_

* * *

"You know how to bring me back, when I go runnin runnin,

tryna get away from loving ya

You know how to love me hard,

I won't lie, I'm fallin hard

Yup, I'm fallin for ya, but there's nothing wrong with that..."

"You Da One"—Rihanna, ___Talk That Talk_

* * *

"You

"Meet me in the kitchens when you're free.

-"Me"

* * *

This wasn't what she had been expecting.

Pretty simple, and admittedly, last minute plans for Valentine's Day Night had been made: Blaise had a bottle of his family's wine that they would have after they got back from dinner, and she would ignore that they were skipping patrols ___and _the fact N.E.W.T.s were around the corner, but they weren't going to study—not even a little bit. ("You've been so laissez-faire about studying all year. Besides, we both know you have nothing to worry about; I'll be lucky to scrape by." He had teased her to get her to admit that he'd be perfectly fine as well, and somehow effectively ended her argument.) It was supposed to be relaxing, something she could handle. Which was important because she had realized awhile back, maybe after they had told Gin and Harry and Daphne everything, that she was slowly starting to think of herself as being unable to handle being around him because of all the thoughts and questions that kept popping up in her head when he and...___That Word_...came to mind.

___How can I feel that way about him when I've only known him for only six months? Am I really sure that the way ____I'm feeling is...__that____—_

But when the Head Girl had given Antoinette the password and walked into the Heads Common Room that evening, hungry and tired after a bout of studying for Ancient Runes with Higgs and annoyed because Ron was still being a child and hadn't spoken to her when she saw him poring over his books on her way out the library, she was greeted by candlelight and their common area in the midst of what appeared to be a transformation. Their study table had been magicked to have taller legs, a circular top, and covered in a white tablecloth, to the familiar leather couch that had been turned and pushed towards the fireplace. A slight aroma hung in the air, and she had just found the source, a little silver pot full of pasta sauce, when she heard the portal open and in walked Blaise sans robes with another pot in hand and his shirt sleeves rolled up.

___I'm already ready to say yes?_

_"____Merda.__"_ He said, surprised at seeing her standing in the middle of the room and hurried to place the pot down, shaking his head, "I was hoping you would be a little late. I was trying to surprise you."

She didn't fight the smile he was putting on her face. "I ___am _surprised. I thought we were just going to dinner and then drinking some of your wine." She surveyed all the changes made to the space, her eyes focusing on the bucket where the bottle in question was chilling in ice. He must have been doing this for hours.

He smirked. "We're not going anymore. And we ___are _drinking wine. But I figured to just give you wine and to watch you eat dinner far away, that's not romantic. I'm Italian; I can't disappoint you today. Besides, this is the perfect chance to add another meal to your list of favorites." He grasped her hand and led her to the pot he had brought in and lifted the lid, a plume of steam revealing the unique ravioli pieces native to his hometown. "I told you in Buonasera that there is no meal better than the one I could make for you. And what I've made won't compare to what they'll be serving us in The Great Hall."

She smiled. "Culurgiones. Your favorite meal."

___And what about school? What about what happens after graduation? We said what we said to Harry, Gin, and Daphne, but are we really going to do it? How can I say that this is what I want when I can't even think the word?_

He gave her a smile in return, clearly pleased that she remembered. "I've talked about it too much; I have to fulfill the expectations you don't know you're starting to have...Everything is ready, except for me." He pointed out the sauce stains on his shirt and his disheveled appearance.

"And me." She had worn a pleated skirt and a rose-printed cardigan that day, both Christmas gifts from her mother. They were outside of her norm of weekend wear, but she had been so excited about their meeting she had allowed it to influence her clothing choice for the day. But she could only imagine him looking even more amazing than he did now, and her looking like a librarian or something.

His hand brushed against her cheek. "You don't have to change; you already look very lovely. All you have to do is put your books down in your room and wait for me."

Still, she couldn't help herself. Ten minutes had been spent trying to find something else before she had suddenly remembered another dress her mother had given her as a present, one that stood out because it had a zipper in the front and was a bit form-hugging, and a pair of flats she hadn't worn since winter had started. Another ten were dedicated to trying to do her hair in a way that he had never seen on her previously, only to give up and leave it to fall on her shoulders (relaxed curls or not, there was only so much she could do in such a short period). And a final five had been spent on trying to do her makeup and spraying as much of her perfume as she could without it being obvious that she didn't want to smell like the school library.

She emerged, not perfect, but good enough. And he was there, comfortable in the slacks, shirt, and cardigan he was wearing, a glass of deep purple-colored wine in his hand. It reminded her of how he had looked in the snow when she had met him, and they had walked to Buenosera together: willing to wait for her.

___I haven't even been able to think about it since Buonasera..._

_"____Buno San Valentino, mi leonessa.__"_ He whispered before kissing her cheek and giving her the glass in his hand, telling her that he was happy to be finally seeing her reaction at drinking his family's wine for the first time. "Sip slowly; it's a bit strong."

Just about all nervousness and confusion had unknowingly melted away at the touch of his hand on hers.

She took a sip, letting the taste fill her mouth. He looked at her expectantly and she closed her eyes, savoring it, and swallowing all those worries and questions she had. No more. Not anymore tonight. Later. "I really...like it."

"Good. Because it's the only type of wine I want you to drink." He joked.

___"I think maybe it will be." _She replied in all seriousness in the safety of her mind. She took another quaff in trade for his smile.

* * *

They, she and Ron, had had an...interesting night.

He had answered her call and showed up at the kitchen, and they had spent time watching the school elves cook and clean up and leave and talking about things, small talk about stupid stuff like how she should be given a medal for saving the school from him becoming the male Moaning Myrtle and how she could've still found herself a Valentine's Day date. And then somewhere, they had diverted from that to started talk about Hermione and Blaise. For two hours off and on again. She didn't even know who had started it...

They had reached its pinnacle with him calling her out on siding with them, again, and she had explained her reason behind it since he seemed to need a justification. And she finally decided to bring up a conversation they had had far back, when she had caught Ron and Higgs talking, recalling things that she didn't like to remember about fifth year, a long one-sided conversation about things that still made her feel small and angry and embarrassed, from Marcus Flint and his stupid crush on her and threats and him and Parkinson blackmailing her with fake pictures and rumors and Sally-Anne siding with every other upperclassmen in Slytherin that year, and how Blaise had somehow fixed it all.

She had just finished and they had been sitting in silence on the counter top, the ingredients they had pulled for cookies across the room. It wasn't like he could come with something else to say; even he could agree that Blaise showing her kindness, let alone loyalty, back then and even now, was a rare thing in Slytherin.

"...I know you think you know everything about Blaise. And that you think you know everything about he and Hermione and their relationship. But you don't..." She looked up from the empty, dirty bowl of what had been the Italian's culurgiones and her tomato-stained fingers. She sighed. "Blaise is part Veela, Ron. Hermione's his mate. They said they've known since before school started, that he knew on his birthday and she found out when she came back to school early that week...They're waiting until the end of the year before he Marks her." She looked over at him.

He looked over at her and then at the cookie in his hand from the batch they had made. They let her words hang in the air, and sat there with their feet hanging over the counter.

"So, he's a Veela and he's automatically in love with her...and she's going to accept being his mate because she's in love with him too."

"...I hope so. Sometimes, I look at her and ___I _can't tell. It's like she's waiting for someone to confirm how she feels..." Truthfully, Daphne believed Granger really didn't know much she was in love with Blaise and that Blaise himself didn't know it either. Ron had been right weeks ago and again tonight—anyone could tell if they looked hard enough. Sometimes, when Blaise wasn't looking, she, Hermione, would start staring at him across The Great Hall. And she didn't know if Veela mates looked at their Veelas the way Granger did, but...every single expression she could ever have on her face, any thoughts about her and Blaise, were just ___there_. And then she would blink or someone would ask her a question and she would just...snap out of it, and blush because then she was embarrassed.

"Hermione will...if it's about love...She's in love with him now, then it's likely she will when school is over. Maybe they'll even get married...She wouldn't want him to suffer after so long. She doesn't like making decisions that she feels people would suffer over. She wouldn't mess with something like his feelings on purpose...or string him along..." He sighed heavily and flicked the cookie across the room.

Somehow, Daphne didn't think that he was talking about Blaise exactly. Her hand pressed on his back and started rubbing it in comfort. "...I'm sorry."

* * *

Two hours later, they had finished almost all their food and more than half the bottle, and he had reached a lull in a story about from his childhood when she realized that maybe she was little drunk and she had a question in reply to all the others she'd been asking herself for the first time:

___Why __wouldn't ____I feel this way about him? Why wouldn't I want him?_

She did. She ___did _want him. They were on the couch and he had been doing things like touching her leg, her curls, speaking long sentences that she couldn't understand and...___smiling _at her...___curiously _all night. And he did those things all the time and she liked it, but tonight, she liked it even more. Maybe he was thinking about her naked...She ___did _want him. And she told him so.

His eyes gave her another one of those curious looks. "You have me; you know that," he said huskily, his hand running up her leg and resting on her hip. "Do whatever you want."

She ___did _know that. And she really, really, wanted him. Right now. "Whatever I want?" She felt a ball of tension form in her lower stomach. She knew he wanted her, but she wanted him, too. "...Okay. I do whatever I want..." She sat up, sliding her leg over his lap and positioning herself to straddle him. "Close your eyes. And don't laugh aft me!"

He smiled. "I won't. I would never laugh 'aft' you."

She pouted. "You're doing it now!"

"No. No." He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm and fingers before schooling his look. "See? I'm serious."

His eyes closed.

He was hers and she could do whatever she wanted. The first thought that ran through her mind was to kiss him. So she did, trying to hold back and...savor him, but couldn't restrain herself. She didn't give a moment's rest as she gently bit and sucked on his bottom lip; her tongue dipped inside his mouth and ran over his, sucking on it as she pulled away. She went back to sucking on his lip. A low moan escaped from his throat...Or growl... She only opened her eyes when she felt his hands on her hips. The look on his face confirmed exactly what she knew:

She hadn't ever really kissed him like ___that _before. Not even when she had come back from the holidays.

She pushed her bangs back and gave him what she hoped was a wicked grin. "I said to close your eyes, Blaise."

He did.

Her smile grew. She could smile like how he smiled, too.

She pressed her body against him, blowing gently in his ear and running a hand in his thick, black hair. He shifted underneath her and she felt her body slide down into his lap. The imprint of his hands felt hot as they slid down her bum and up her thigh and found its way under her dress. She felt that ball of tension get tight as his fingers began sliding underneath the cotton and elastic of her underwear. His hands felt so warm; it made her want him more.

Her hands pushed the lapels of his sweater jacket open, pulling the garment off his shoulders. He barely got it off when she started opening his shirt buttons. And he barely got ___that _off when she pulled off his undershirt and left him naked from the waist up in the firelight.

One of his blue eyes opened. "...Are you trying to be a ___leonessa _for real?" She decided to overlook that he had ignored her directions and was teasing her again. She was distracted. He was really fit. Quite fit. Muscular. But not too muscular. And there was a thin trail of hair from his belly button and leading past his pants' waistband. "...Hermione?" His hand pushed her bangs away again and tried to lift her chin. Stupid bangs. "Hermione?"

She kissed his chest. And then she licked it. And she wasn't sure if she could taste his...lotion or something, but she did it again. And again. And started moving...down to his stomach, wondering if there was a trail of her lipgloss or something. She wanted to laugh when he started murmuring something, but this was serious. She wanted...she wanted to get, get on the floor...she couldn't understand why she couldn't get on the floor. She was trying to look...behind her to see what was stopping her. His knees maybe?

And then she felt...___him _against her.

He hissed sharply. "Hermione..."

Somehow, she climbed off of him and her feet found the floor. And then her knees did. And then her hands found their way to his belt buckle and then loosened it and opened his pants zipper before she could second-guess herself. She must've drunk a lot...but wait, she had had only two glasses, right? Maybe more? And then she saw the elastic of his boxer briefs and his...bulge. Her fingers started pulling the waistband down before she could stop herself.

He grasped her wrist and pull to get her back unto the couch. He was lying in front of her, his olive skin golden in the light, eyes dark, his slacks wide open at the front, and all of him straining against the confines of his underwear. He looked so...big... "Hermione—" whatever he was going to say was cut off when she stood once more.

She grabbed at the tab to her dress' zipper and she pulled it down to her hips and wriggled it off, leaving herself only in her bra and underwear. Only she would wear a bra and underwear in two different colors...Didn't girls try to wear sexy, matching underclothes on Valentine's Day? What if she had just messed up everything? Whatever. She pulled her bra clasp open and slid it off her shoulders until it fell unto the floor as well. There. Now it didn't matter if she matched or something. She walked back and straddled his lap again. "I'm just like you now, too."

His eyes went darker. Like, all the blue...part had gone away. Or had gotten darker or something. And as she felt the full effect of his wine, he kissed her. His fingers brushed down her sides and then came back up to her breasts, his thumb touching and rolling her nipple lightly until it began to harden. He kept looking at her, solemn-faced, but eyes questioning if she was going to make him stop.

...Why would she stop him? She liked him touching her. She could touch him too. Her hand made its way down one of the last scraps of fabric between them and probed for the opening on the side on the front and found it, pulling it open. She think she gasped as she finally laid her eyes on...him...___it_. His...erection...was bigger and maybe...different than what she had imagined from reading books, and it...it was...twitching. Like, to tell her to touch it. And with her body pressed against his, his head on the crook of her neck and shoulder, and his thigh between her legs, she did.

He was...thick. And...warm. And hard, but the skin was soft, too. Her fingertips touched the tip and then slid down to the base then went up once more and again and again. She couldn't tell if she was doing something right, but suddenly she noticed the tip was glistening...and then felt some of his pre-cum coming out. He'd thrown his head back a bit and wasn't really speaking English anymore either, so there was that, right?

His hand enveloped hers, making her grip tighter and guiding her rhythm to go faster, adding a twist at the head that she hadn't known she knew. "___Afferrarlo_...___così_...___sì_..." She felt like every vein was starting to pulse and his breathing was getting quicker. And when she changed the direction of her fingers and then flattened her palm, he started to buck against her hand. "___Basta usare la mano...Come quella..._Hermi...fuck...fuck...___Veng_..."

With a grunt and a final thrust of his hips, a thick, hot, white fluid came forth, and coated her fingers. She let go of her hold, blushed, confused as to how she was going to clean her hand but somehow...pleased at the same time. The only sounds in the common room for a few minutes, apart from the fire, was his breathing.

Blaise stood slowly and made his way to their dinner table, grabbing a few napkins and wiping his hand before walking back over to do the same. He grabbed his wand and helped her stand, his hand clasping her tightly. He gave her body one more glance before looking into her eyes for...something... "Come with me."

* * *

He didn't know why he didn't think that his mother wouldn't give him a bottle of wine with ___sensazione di bottigila _when he had asked for a regular bottle and change the labels. And him being so stupid, there had been enough time between October and now that it had gotten a chance to get stronger with the wine fermenting.

They had had about the same amount and admittedly, this was his first time drinking this type of feeling, but for Hermione, who likely had never had wizards' wine before, the effect was stronger. Lust. It didn't help that she was also likely drunk in the regular way too.

The smell of her greeted him as he opened her bedroom door and they stepped inside. ...Maybe this wasn't a good idea; maybe it'd be easier for her to sleep in his room. Having her smell around him, that smell of blackberries and vanilla, ___and _her walking behind him half-naked and wild-looking with her hair and makeup...it added on to usual way he wanted her ___and _to the lust-tinged wine he was feeling. Every nerve and hair on his body seemed to be on edge. He held her hand, but couldn't even trust himself to keep from doing something stupid. And _every_ place with a flat surface, the study desk she didn't use, the gap of wall between her chest of drawers and the doorframe to her bathroom, the floor, and especially her bed, was a place he could rest her body on and make love to her. But second-guessing his options, he didn't trust himself in his room either, in his bed. If he took one look at her... "Stay here or sit on the bed. I'll be right back."

He needed to get her covered. A shirt. Or a suit. Or a potato sack.

_"____Lumos__."_ He placed his wand on her unused study table. He made his way over to her chest of drawers, opening and shutting them until he found a long shirt with a print of a strawberry, maybe a nightgown for summer. Good enough. He held it out, but kept his back to her. "Put this on."

"You have to bring it here...I'm on the bed." Her voice was far away. There was movement in the corner of his eye, and the sound of bedsprings squeaking like she was just settling in.

He could ___feel _the mischievousness in those words. ___Merlin, please let her be under the covers. _

He looked back.

She ___was _sitting on the bed with her legs hanging over its foot, but she was not under the large yellow blanket, and had that wild look of hers and a smile on her lips. He drunk in the sight of the way she looked, her darkened eyes, her skin, the rise and fall of her chest and her pink nipples before realizing there was something bunched in her hand. Something small and black or dark blue...he'd seen it before...

Her underwear.

His mouth went dry as he felt something stir at the realization that was seeping into his brain, the sight of her legs and bare skin and a small triangle of hair. "...___Merlin_." ___Of ____course ____she'd be._

Her smile grew. "You're getting hard again, Blaise."

___Fuck. _He was.

"Come here."

He did. "Hermione, I want you to put this—" He felt her lips on his. Her legs were wrapping around the back of his legs, and her thumbs were hooking unto the elastic of his boxer briefs and pulling them down. Painfully gathering every shred of restraint he had, he pulled away... "Hermione, I want you to—"

"I want ___you_, Blaise." She inched the last scrap of clothing he had on down more.

He grabbed her hands and moved them; she had absolutely no idea what she was doing to him and how hard she was making this. ___Him. _"You don't want to...sleep?" Her hand guided his up to her inner thigh, shaking her head teasingly. That answered his question. Her hand reached out to him again and she felt her lips press on his neck. "Hermione, ___please_." Even he could hear the pleading in his voice. "I don't think you know what you're asking. Remember I can't hold back all the time. Please put this on and try to fall asleep." Fuck, he was begging. For the ___opposite _thing he wanted. ___Fuck. Merlin! Fuck!_

"I ___do _know what I'm asking." She eyed the shirt suspiciously. "If I put it on, will you...? I want you to touch me, too. It's only," She swallowed and frowned to get the words out. "...it's only fair...You can...bring out the Veela—"

"Hermione—"

"—I'm saying...you can. A little."

Those words put a crack in his resilience. "...Okay." She lifted her arms and he put the garment in question on her. It didn't do much to hide the fact her nipples were poking through the cotton. And she guided his hand back between her legs.

She was plump...if that made sense. Soft. Smooth. And when he ran his fingers up her lips and opened her legs more, she was warm and wet. His finger found its way inside. She was hot and tight around his finger. He slid the digit out and in and in and out slowly. A tiny sound escaped from her parted lips as he did it again and again and again. She was getting wetter; his finger was starting to get coated. She was too good to be true—amazing; he loved her. Like this? He could be like this with her all night. Forever. Her back arched a bit and her eyes closed; his hand reached underneath the nightgown, pulling the fabric high enough in the back that her wearing it was a stupid idea. He lifted it off her again and threw it unto the bed, leaving her naked again. He liked her better this way anyway, clinging to him and moaning, a quiet, wet sound in his ears as his fingers explored inside her. That there was a thin river of sweat trailing down her stomach and her hair clung to her skin. He nipped her ear and added another finger and sped up. His free hand gripped her side. He could feel his blood pool below the waist, spurring him on, wanting for him to go further. Something about him was going to...snap...he needed to finish this quickly.

"Blaise." She made that little sound again. "Blaise." She tightened, bucked against his hand, and squirmed. "Movefaster...go...gofaster...dontstop..." She was close. His hand brushed away the curls stuck to her neck, and his mouth kissed and licked and blew cool air on the skin.

His thumb found her clit and she put her arms around his shoulders. "Nonononononono." She whined. He began sweeping the pad of his thumb across that spot of hers he'd found. Her fingernails scraped his skin. "Bl..." she gasped a little, a series of little hiccupy ones. "Blaise. Blaise, I'm...I'm...___wait_, I'm, I'm cu..."

A series of breathy gasps cut off her words and he watched as she rode out her climax, her body shaking and her opening squeezing around his fingers and then letting go. He moved his fingers and then lifted the digits to taste her...she was sweet, sweeter than anything he had ever known.

Her chest was still rising and falling. He took a few steps back, sighing heavily. Just looking at her, he could tell it wasn't enough for either of them, but it would have to do. They couldn't try this again. Not tonight. "Tell me...you're ready...tosleep now."

Her eyes opened and he could see they were still glazed over with her orgasm. "I'm...ready. To sleep now."

He scooped her up and carried her the short distance to the headboard, pushing the covers back, putting her nightgown on again, and laying her down. She still looked amazing in the afterglow, her nightgown twisted and inched up those legs and her skin flushed and hair fanned out around her. This felt familiar and right; he could stand there for the rest of the night and watch her...

"Come here." She shifted to give him room.

His head shook no slowly. It was best he didn't. "Hermione—"

Her hand grabbed for his wrist. "Sleep with me...don't say no. Please."

He hesitated and then he decided to not say no.

Her bed was soft, but she was softer. Warmer. He hooked her leg over his side and pressed her front against his. The smell of her skin filled his nostrils. She relaxed almost instantly, murmuring goodnight and filling the air with the sound of her breathing. Just like the first night...but she was closer and it was better...

He gave way to sleep too.

* * *

___R&R_


	14. Chapter 14

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

Translation(s)/Terminology:

___Che diavolo? _(Italian): "What the hell?"

___lussuria _(Italian): "lust"

___(Source: Google Translate)_

* * *

"What am I feelin', it's getting stronger,

And I can't hold it back for much longer

Although we try to be cool, it's all because of you

I know this can't be love, baby it must be love

Don't wanna give into you so easily

But I can't even fight it, you make me so weak

And I can't understand what you're doing to me, but I like it, I like it"

"Must Be Love"— Cassie (ft. Diddy)

* * *

Maybe...

Maybe...she was ready and they could complete The Mark now...as soon as possible.

From the moment he had awoken for the second time that morning, that was the dominant thought that kept coming to mind as he tried to carry on the day. Every thought he had towards hating that the N.E.W.T.s were close and wanting them to be over so he wouldn't have to think about them anymore kept being overturned with thoughts of her the first time he had awaken...and the thought—or thoughts—that overturned that one...

___She had been turning over in her sleep and Blaise had been waking up, half-murmuring for her to sleep in more, and giving in to his own exhaustion and the warmth of her body on and off again for almost an hour._

___But he could tell that this time would be different. For one thing, she didn't stir and rub and cling to him, making little contented, sleepy sounds. She jolted awake. And after a pause, half-mumbled, half-gasped. "Oh, Merlin. Ohmigod." He was aware of the frenzied movement across the mattress that jerked him out of his dreams of her and the thudding footsteps on the other side of the bed that woke him up fully._

___He jerked up to see her standing on the other side of the bed, rubbing her temples and wincing, her eyes alternating between blinking wildly and shutting tightly. It was like she was oblivious to his crawling to the edge where she stood. He didn't have a lot of energy to stand, but reached out and placed his hand on her forehead, brushing her hair back to get a better look at her. "Does it hurt much?" He whispered softly._

___"Like someone's playing drums inside my head," she murmured._

___He gently tugged on her arm to bring her closer. "You're still hung over." He smiled slightly at the sound of her scoffing, his words clearly being an understatement. "Come back to bed. We can skip breakfast and have another lie in; I can make a sobering potion when we wake up again."_

___Her eyes opened. And the look on her face of surprise and the blush that was growing on her cheeks. Her arms folded across her chest protectively and her eyes clamped shut again, tighter this time. "I wish I were dreaming."_

___He looked down to see what she was looking at and finally realized: his boxers. Well, it ____was ____morning... But he felt like there was more to her reaction...the look on her face...last night was slowly coming back to her...he didn't know if that was a good thing or not._

___Silence permeated in the room. She kept eyeing his bare skin, his lap, and then her own bare legs. "Did we...?"_

"___No...No..." Blaise could only imagine the morning starting off better had they done so. "Hermione...the wine was from October. When I was giving those gifts to McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. I don't know if it was because I had asked for two other bottles with sensazione or if there was a mix-up at the vineyard at the time that I asked, but there was some in the bottle we had last night. It's called _lussuria___. Lust."_

___His fingers ran through his hair, already hating the fact that he had admitted that and the fact that she paled slightly. "I'm sorry for that. I only meant for you to have a simple bottle. Had I known beforehand, I would have brought the correct kind with me after the holiday. But you were never in any danger of things going...further." He swallowed so hard, knowing that to be true and..._hating___it._

___She opened her mouth to ask a question but then closed it, her lips pursed in a line. Blaise wasn't sure of the reasons why her hand kept pulling at the front of her nightgown like that; he knew she was now more than aware of the events that had led to her underwear ending up on the floor. "...Does this mean that everything...happened because I had so much?"_

___"...Not entirely. Having wine with sensazione__does ____affect one's experience when drinking it, that's its purpose. But it's more of an enhancer; it allows that one emotion to dominate over the others. But, the degree of its strength depends on the..." he trailed off and looked at her, a question of his own on the tip of his tongue._

___It took a moment. She had been biting her lip and focusing her eyes on the sunrise peeking through her window. But then suddenly, it hit her. Her eyes widened and the blush on her face intensified as she fully met his glance and parted those lips, to confirm his thought, to explain herself, to disprove them, he didn't know._

___It was the tapping of a school owl at her window that cut off the conversation. Her eyes shifted between the bird and him before heading to the window and taking whatever it seemed determined on giving her. Her brow furrowed and, with more quick glance, she went to her desk for a quill and ink. She stood stiffly, maybe to prevent her nightgown from riding up._

___The Slytherin sat on the edge of her bed, caught between wanting them to get back under the covers and ____taking the initiative to leave her to her thoughts. Finally, he made his decision, rising from the bedspread and sheets. He placed his hand on the small of her back and brought her closer. "I'm going back to my room now that you're...okay. I'll make the sobering potion later and leave some on the table for you. Get some more sleep, please."_

___She looked sad, but didn't stop him. Or maybe he was just imagining the look itself... "...Okay..."_

...The thought that the cause of what had happened the night before was not so strongly influenced because of how much they had drunk and what was in it, but rather because some part of her, Hermione Granger, had ___wanted _it to happen.

He wouldn't forget that.

He___couldn't. _As monk-like as he had tried to be for the past few months, the thought of keeping it to how it was before, only kissing, only allowing himself to touch her bare skin under her shirt, only imagining how she looked like underneath those clothes was frustrating. He knew which part—___parts_—of him was unhappy, but he couldn't even contest against it.

Even now, sitting in The Great Hall and going through the motions of eating his shepherd's pie and watching her observe Weasley's sudden appearance after a month-long hiatus and exchange words with him into her plate, and remembering the difference between her being so...hesitant, practically ___frightened_, and the version of her he had dreamt, the ones where she kept walking up the rows of his vineyard, naked and seductive with that mane of hers, the thought was almost desperate.

Maybe he shouldn't have said what he had so early in the morning; maybe he should have lied, but now when he replayed everything, how could he? ___Why _should he? Everything ___still _depended on her feeling the same, on him waiting for her to say the words he was waiting for and for her to let them act on them. Part of him was beginning to admit...hating having to wait. Especially when he always seemed so close.

And if she had finally started having feelings like he had been all year, then now they should act on them. Now that he knew those feelings, that the physical, if not emotional, existed and was strong enough, he didn't know if he could wait on their implied agreement to wait until school was over. There was the strength of The Mark to think about, the consequences of things not working out his favor, of going mad and thinking that maybe in the future he'd be plagued with the idea that she could have been his mate in February on Valentine's Day Night and she could have felt the way he had been thinking before she had stopped or hadn't told him that she was and thinking about the last time he had been left to think about her not wanting him and how he couldn't really handle going through—

And again the thought surfaced: They should finish it. They should stop waiting.

He suddenly pulled himself out of his thoughts and noticed the slight nod of Daphne's head and the approving smile on her face and almost wanted to ask her about it to keep his mind off...things, when he spied a familiar head of curly hair looking up from her plate to stare at him. Her eyes trained on him were plain as day to him, her expression for once being unreadable, but always beautiful. Always.

He calmed his thoughts. Tried to rationalize.

He'd be careful about asking when he brought up the subject...tonight. He'd suggest this coming weekend. He'd promise her anything to convince her and take care of everything. He'd work hard to make it things perfect: candles, more food...everything. As long as...

….as long as she was his and only his, forever and ever, at the end.

* * *

"You seem pretty happy tonight. I would've thought that all those notes I sent this morning and us still having to work this late would've drove you crazy." Higgs looked down at their assignment.

She snapped back to reality with a long blink. It had been taking her awhile to realize that she was being spoken to all night. "Oh! No...no...I've actually heard stories about Harry going crazy about setting up extra Quidditch practices and meetings, so I'm used to it. Plus, this is our last assignment for the year, so it's good to do as much as we can."

"Yeah, the beginning of the end...still, another fifteen minutes and I'll probably be heading back anyway. A four-hour Quidditch meeting isn't the best way to end your weekend." He stopped stretching and looked at his watch and its description of ___It's Late! _He rubbed the back of his neck roughly and glanced over as she alternated between flipping through her notes and textbook. "...An Ancient Runes meeting isn't so bad though. Your chairs are more comfortable than the library's it feels like."

She half-laughed and half-yawned, but never lifted her eyes from the parchment. "Thanks." She pressed the tip of her quill at the corner of a symbol and frowned. She wasn't sure if that was how it was or if it had some kind of mistake.

"...I noticed Weasley came back to dinner today. So, you guys have made up now?"

Hermione looked up to see Higgs staring at her. "...Yeah," she gave a little smile. She had almost forgotten how many other people had seen his blow up a few weeks back.

"Great...Does this mean that you two are...together...now?"

___What? _"No," she shook her head and gave a shaky laugh, trying to play off how strange the conversation was. Maybe there was a reason why they never really spoke about much outside of Babbling's assignment. "No. We're still friends."

"Oh..."

She pushed back a lock of her hair that kept slipping behind her ear, trying to relax her brow line. "Yeah. I guess everyone thinks that because we've known each other a long time and Harry's with Ginny."

"I guess... But for me, it's just...a few weeks back, he asked me if I knew who you liked or if you liked anyone. I told him I didn't and I...just...guessed that since you guys made up, you were dating now."

Being made aware that a conversation like that taken place without her knowing made her feel something between uncomfortable and embarrassed. She could have cringed or said something, but opted for silence. Their eyes met for a moment, but she broke away to focus hers on her textbook. He didn't stop looking at her though. She could feel her face burning slightly.

The Gryffindor was grateful that the yawn she made was real. "You know, maybe that's enough for tonight. We can always talk about our assignment again on Wednesday. In the library." She stood and started straightening up her workspace.

He did the same, albeit with less enthusiasm than she had. "Listen. It's none of my business...I shouldn't have brought it up. Sorry, it's just," he placed his books down again and turned to look at her fully, "since first year, I've always heard guys say that they think you're pretty, but most of them wouldn't try to date you because of Weasley and because...it's a little intimidating to think about coming to you and telling you how we think of you."

Her face reddened, but she didn't look up, just willed herself to get everything together...she hadn't seen Blaise since this morning and hoped he came from patrols soon...

"Not to say that you're ___intimidating_; it's just, you're smarter than us and you're friends with Harry Potter and Weasley and his siblings. It's like you're kind of...really...protected. But I think I started seeing you in a way different from all of that in sixth year...And, I...I only started saying ___I _would like to date you in sixth year, but I have been thinking about...actually trying to since awhile back."

"...What?" Her eyes widened and she felt her face burn a bit more. All of a sudden, it felt like he was kind of towering over her and then she realized that he was leaning towards her and therefore, actually really close. She tried taking a step back, but felt her chair blocking her way. So, she didn't move at all. For all she knew, from the way he was talking, he'd follow behind her.

"I mean...I ___do _like Ancient Runes, but it's not exactly the workload that had me trying to come over so late tonight. Or that's got me studying this...stuff over all my other classes most of the time. I just feel kind of stupid because, I could have said something earlier this year if I knew you weren't with Weasley..." He was even closer than before, but it was like she was rooted to the spot.

It felt like there was a glob of paste in her mouth that she couldn't swallow or talk through. She closed her eyes and begged her body to react—move away, pull away, talk, say something to him. "...Higgs, I—"

And then it didn't even matter because all of a sudden, she felt his mouth on hers.

She could have been made of living stone as she stood frozen and felt his mouth try to mesh against hers for a few seconds. ___Seconds. _But suddenly, like someone had zapped her with lighting, she felt herself pulling away, stepping backwards and kicking her chair over. Her head turned to see where it landed and she felt Higgs' hand press on the crook of her neck and shoulder to will her to ignore it.

But then his thumb swept against a familiar spot on her neck—

"___...It's not something we could've just told everyone...I'm sorr—"_

"—___Okay." Ron put his hand up slightly to silence her. "'Mione...__okay____. I get it: you had your reasons. I can understand that," he cut another chunk of his shepherd's pie and lifted it to his mouth, but didn't eat it. "...I, I know you're probably not waiting for anyone's approval, but, uh," he sighed and placed his food down. Something seemed to catch his eye for a moment, but he just turned back to her before she could get a good look. "I'll get over it—honestly, I will eventually...so, you move forward, too..."_

—"Blaise,"she murmured. She pushed the body, the person away, and stepped back a bit more to put in a larger gap. ___Air.____An ocean. _She wanted to wipe off her mouth, but chose not to...which, a part of her chastised her, was stupid. Her hand started wiping away and she begged the part of her brain or heart or whatever it was that was making her turn redder and her eyes sting to stop. She didn't want him...her Ancient Runes partner, Higgs, to somehow think that she was...___happy _about what had just happened. She ___didn't _want the memory or the lingering feeling of his mouth on hers.

He looked over at her with a frown. "So, you do like him. Zabini."

A part of her panicked, but that feeling of her mouth being pasted shut had come back again. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she didn't say anything.

"You've been staring at Slytherin table for awhile. I thought...you were staring at me; I actually sit about three seats down from him. And then when Weasley came up to me, I thought he was asking me to tell him that you had a crush on me. But...you were looking at Zabini this whole time." He nodded his head awkwardly, absorbing this information. "You've probably had a crush on him since the year began because...every girl has a crush on Zabini in this school. Or gets one at some point. And you two are Heads and always around each other, so it makes sense."

She started biting her lip, wishing that she could just...erase what had just happened. "...It's a little more...complicated than that."

He looked like he was going to say something, but licked his lips and shook his head instead. "...Well...you can save your breath by not telling me about it." He grabbed his books and left.

* * *

Blaise had thought it was strange that after having to patrol the school on his own, tired and still desperate to say what he had to say, he walked upon Higgs leaving his quarters and received a look of hostility in return to his brief nod of acknowledgment.

"...Calypso."

But he knew something was wrong when he walked in to see Hermione tense, practically chewing her lip off, and staring out in space.

The words that had been on his mind all day and that he had been practicing all night to say, seemed to evaporate on his tongue. "What's wrong?"

The way she looked over at him made him feel like she hadn't even known he had come in. "Nothing...nothing." She gave him a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

His brow furrowed. "Hermione, something happened." He pointed to the overturned chair. "Tell me."

She shook her head and walked away to straighten up more, and he suddenly thought of the worst thing that could have happened with him gone. Had there been more room between them, he would have had to run over to her. He walked behind her, trying to figure out the best way to make her stay still. "Hermione...did something...___bad _happen? Say something." It was frustrating seeing her shake her head again and again. "Hermione, say something. So, I don't think that he...hurt you or something." His hand touched her shoulder, brushing the tip of The Mark without really meaning to.

She shuddered and jerked away, her hand protectively covering her skin. Something she had never done before. She drew in a shaky breath. "Higgs didn't hurt me. He told me that he...he's had a crush on me all year. And that he works really hard on our assignments to impress me because of it...And then..." She started chewing her lip again and...turning red...___blushing_, maybe.

And the quarter-Veela suddenly realized what it was she wasn't telling him. His hand twitched to run through his hair and gather his thoughts but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

All this time...all this time, he had been thinking that Potter or Weasley would be the ones that could...keep her away from him. That the former would convince her otherwise with words and the other would do the same, but with...his ___feelings_. He hadn't ever thought of the third option: that it could be someone else...

And that was a bad thought to have because whatever had happened in the hour and half he had been away, hadn't gone well. But...

He stepped back.

His mind, the desperate side, started firing off thoughts...Putting two and two together and trying to justify coming to four. He was looking for the logic of it all. Trying to list reasons how or...___why _Hermione, the woman he loved, his mate, and Terence Higgs, a fellow Slytherin who wasn't noticeable in his eyes but was suddenly invading every inch of his brain, could end up together. Hermione was beautiful, the only other woman beside his mother he could ever even consider calling beautiful, and Higgs...Higgs who looked like any other...Englishman he guess, if stereotypes had to be discounted. They liked Ancient Runes; he wasn't as brain dead as other people in their house or year. He was a Slytherin, but wasn't like other Slytherin poster boys—Malfoy and others...if the math was done that way, he'd be coming up with a wrong sum. Five. Six. Those reasons were tenuous as best. They were leagues apart.

But...as far as he knew; Higgs wasn't a...Veela or part-Veela. If he liked Hermione, he could and did like her in a regular way...a normal, romantic way...Someone as pragmatic as she was would like. Or still wanted in spite of...of everything...

Did her knowing how he felt mean that she liked him now?

Did him kissing her change her mind about them and everything they'd gone through? Were ___still _going through?

When they had kissed...had she liked it?

"...No...NO!" She turned to him, wide-eyed. "How can you think I would?!"

He just realized that he had been asking those questions out loud.

The rational side of him, the human side of him, seemed relieved. But it was tiny compared to the...desperate thoughts that were taking over from the other side. And it wasn't fair. She looked like she felt guilty and uncomfortable; she ___was _uncomfortable and nervous...but the look on her face was like how it had been this morning. When she had woken up to see him beside her. It just reminded him of how ___unsure _she could be. How unsure she was.

He couldn't take it. He had to walk away.

"Blaise!...Blaise!" She stood in front of him. Her eyes were angry and her muscles were tense. Vaguely, he thought of the rumor he had heard in third year, of her hauling off and punching Draco Malfoy in the face. "How can you think that?" She repeated, her voice much more hurt than anything else.

"...I don't..." He didn't want to stay and give any more explanation than that.

"Then why did you say it?" Her footsteps were behind him; they were louder than anything else he may have ever heard in his ears. Blaise didn't want to escape them, but he found himself doing that, walking around the couch and back to the portal again.

"You weren't supposed to hear that..." He stepped backwards, the distance between himself and his room being made all the longer. "Hermione, please. Move." She wouldn't. "Hermione...not now. Not when you look like that."

"Like what?!"

"Like the way you looked this morning when you saw me...beside you in bed this morning. And you said you wish you were dreaming."

Her face looked pinched and then her eyes got glassy. "...I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I don't know...But that has nothing to do with what I just told you!" She pointed at the ground as if something were there. "Just tell me now: are you mad at me?"

"...When he kissed you, what did you do? How did you feel? Did you push him away?"

"...Not right away. I froze. I panicked! I, I, I didn't know that he was going to kiss me and when he did, I didn't want him to. And maybe that means that I ___let _him to you, but that's not what happened! ...I don't, I don't want him! I've never even thought of him that way."

That was enough for him. This was all enough for him. He couldn't handle this conversation. The thought of him kissing her, his mate...Hermione...was driving him over the edge. And, and, and...the, the, ___thought _of...everything—her and this morning, the fog, him kissing her, waiting, her hesitation, the look on her face when he walked in, Higgs kissing her, having to wait for her, his nails growing, having to wait for school to end, The Mark, her and last night, her and Higgs, Higgs and her, her not wanting Higgs, but them kissing, The Mark—

He could feel her body pressed on his and her arms wrapped around him. And the smell of her was clouding his head. It was like early in the morning all over again and all of her was pressed on him...except for the wetness he could feel on the back of his shirt. Tears.

—and his mother's warning, the feel of her around his fingers, the consequences of waiting, the thought of going crazy—___crazier_, the question he was going to ask her, the first night she came, his birthday night, hesitation, The Mark, the day he spent coming to grips, the warnings, trying to think everything out, her hands on him, willing his fingernails not to grow, regrets, Valentine's Day and night, being a Veela, her telling him she wanted to wait, when they saw each other after the holiday, kissing her for the first time, the feel of her hand putting chocolate into his, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, Hermione, all of his emotions he had for her and towards her, him being part Veela, him seeking out a mate and it being her, her kissing Higgs Higgs kissing her her not wanting Higgs but her not doing anything when Higgs kissed her Higgs' dirty looks Higgs being in their quarters Higgs kissing her Higgs trying to date her ___Higgs fucking kissing her_—

"Blaise, I love you."

...That changed...things...Everything.

"...Blaise, I love you," she repeated again. It was almost indistinguishable because of her burying her face in his chest.

It had been the words he had been wanting to hear all year. They were filling his ears; she wouldn't stop repeating herself because, because he wasn't saying anything back.

He turned to her as best he could; her arms hadn't let go. She was crying, her eyes already getting puffy and swollen and her face splotchy. Beautiful as always. "I really do love you. I can't be with Higgs or be in love with him or Ron or anybody...I love you." Her grip tightened. "I'm sorry."

And he felt himself...reach out to her. His hand in her hair, the feel of her tears on her cheek.

He wanted her to stop crying. But for some odd reason, he couldn't find his voice to tell her so. So he touched her again. The Mark from the first time they had been like this. In this same room, with a fire burning in the hearth like this.

She quivered.

Again.

She moved away, but her hands stayed on his belt buckle to keep him close. Part of him thought she had no idea where she was going, but realized how stupid that was when her back touched the wall. And her eyes, those brown eyes of hers, looked up at him.

And he felt himself drown in them. And he felt like he had felt with her the first night there were...together.

His mouth pressed on her neck. The Mark. A gasp escaped from her mouth and her arms let him go of the belt buckle, his belt buckle, that she had been loosening. Her fingers ran through his hair and he literally felt a tingle run down his spine. His hand found her hip. She was wearing a skirt, maybe from an old uniform set. It was so easy and...___right _that he could lift it and she would let him, ___his _leonessa in ___his _arms, pressing harder against him...she loved him. She had said it; it was true. The words he had been wanting her to say and there they were now. Out in the open. And he loved her—all of her, every inch of her. Goosebumps were rising on his skin...his arms.

Her leg lifted and hooked around his side with a gentle slide of his fingers. It was so sexy the way her skirt fell back. Whatever underwear she had put on this morning, it was black. Dark like the ones from last night, Valentine's, had been. And he growled, annoyed; she had worn stockings again. He knew from last night how her skin felt and he wanted that back—without whatever it was she had decided to wear. His eyes looked up to watch her as he shifted his stance, moved away every so slightly—six inches, that's all he needed—and put his hand between them, his thumb brushed against her core again... She remembered last night. She ___had _to; there was no way he could already have made her wet. He hadn't done anything. His mouth kissed her mark and touched her through her stockings again, and she threw her head back, her eyes closing. Again and now he was wishing he could just move the cotton to the side and be between her legs...

These damn stockings...he was going to rip these stockings she was wearing off and then find every pair she own and rip those too. And he told her so. In Italian. He wasn't even sure she had ___heard _him, much less understood him.

Her head tilted back and he heard the breath escaping from her mouth. That pink bow of a mouth that said his name and told him that she loved him. ___She loved him._

His mouth left her neck and pressed against hers. Her lips felt so...soft. Her lips parted without him having to do anything and his tongue swiped along the bottom. Every gasp escaping out of her mouth...if the sound of her breathing long ago was like music to his ears that first night he had watched her sleep, then her the muffled notes he could hear were like a symphony. He kissed her lips more. He would brand them again. He would make them his again. He'd make sure she'd never hesitate to move them whenever any other man—or little boy, because that was Higgs was, a child—wanted them. No one would have them, except him. No one would ever be able to make her feel the way he was making her feel right now. He'd make sure to know it to be true, factual, a law of nature. No one would ever be able to handle her, this wild and fierce and sexy side of her that only he knew so well. Because she was ___his _mate. ___His. _Higgs could have all the feelings he wanted, so long as he knew at the end of the day, when it was all said and done, she loved ___him_. Blaise. And she was his mate. ___His_. No one else's. Because he couldn't stand the idea of anyone else having her. ___He _was the one devoted to her. No one would take her away. ___He _loved ___her_. ___She _loved ___him _and the thought of not having her—

Something was wrong.

It felt like his arms were being pricked.

"...Ow!"

He wasn't sure if she...Hermione...pushed him away or if he himself moved away from her like she was suddenly made of fire. Something else was...wrong.

Her fingers were touching her lip over and over again. He could see a bead of something red on her fingertips...blood. And he could taste something metallic on his tongue...her blood.

He had bitten her. Hard. And the look on her face wanted to know why.

But he couldn't answer her. He felt like something was chewing open or pushing through his skin.

"I have to go. I can't do this..." He was already walking down the hallway. Maybe she called after him but then he was already closing the door and putting containment spells and silencing charms on it. And magicking his lights on. The feeling was worse; he wished his arms were numb.

He only needed to lift his shirt sleeves, but he ripped the whole thing off and looked at his arms.

He had always had hair on them, fine ones. But whatever this...these hairs were were thick. And they were all up on his forearms, along the bottom and widened as it reached the shoulders. He was both relieved at the fact that the one he chose was easy to pull. But he was scared at the fact that it wasn't...it was different..matted, hair ___like _but...downy.

___"Che diavolo?"_

He was staring at a...feather.

* * *

"Oh, what will I do,

If I can't be with you

Tell me where will I turn to

Baby where will I be...

Now that we are apart

Am I still in your heart?

Baby why don't you see?

That I need you here with me...

"Gone"—NSYNC, ___Celebrity_


	15. Chapter 15

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

"Distant lover, lover

So many miles away

Heaven knows that I long for you"

"Every night, every night

And sometimes I yearn

Through the day"

"Distant Lover"—Marvin Gaye, ___Let's Get It On_

* * *

******"40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS: HOW MINISTER SHACKLEBOLT IS DOING**

******Approval Rating at 64%"**

* * *

"You didn't have to skip class today to avoid me. Maybe I would have apologized if you came, but I can't. I really do like you. I know you have a crush on Zabini, but maybe you could just give me a chance..."

* * *

******"MINISTER SHACKLEBOLT TO APPROVE AMENDMENT EXPIDITION**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—Minister Shacklebolt is expected to sign his approval on an act to speed the amendment process of a number of Death Eater laws and policies put in place under the rule of Pius Thicknesse during the previous summer. This will be the first legislative act Shacklebolt has put in place since assuming the role of Minister of Magic last month.**

******"Many of the laws expected to be amended were ones put in place to ban Muggle-born and in some instances, Half-blooded individuals basic rights as magic-capable citizens. These laws include The Twenty-Five Statute, which stated that those born with less than 25% magical heritage were not recognized as magical peoples, and the Marriage Law which stated that marriages likely to produce Half-blooded or Squib offspring would not be recognized until gaining approval at the time of the child's magical awakening.**

******"Although the enforcement of many of these laws ended with the reclaiming of the Ministry of Magic from the Death Eaters last August in the days before The Battle of Godric's Hollow, many magical families still find themselves facing the consequences stipulated in the bylaws..."**

* * *

"It's ___not _a crush; it's much more than a crush...I'm not like all those other girls you were talking about the other night. the difference is I've already told him how I feel..."

* * *

******"BREAKING: LESTRANGE PLEADS NO CONTEST**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—Minutes after taking the stand, Rudolphous Lestrange has claimed no contest for his actions in He-Who-Must-Be-Named's inner circle.**

******" 'I'm getting pretty tired doing this [explicative] day after day; you know you're not going to let me free, so why don't I just say whatever you say I did and get out of this room?' said Lestrange five minutes into questioning from the prosecution.**

******"Lestrange was already serving a life sentence in Azkaban for his crimes during the First Wizarding War, the most notable being the use of the Cruciatus Curse on Aurors Alice and Frank Longbottom. He escaped from the prison facility in the early months of the Second Wizarding War to once again join He-Who-Must-Not-Be..."**

* * *

"I know you showed up late to class yesterday so you didn't have to sit beside me. Everybody noticed. And as far as the letter you sent, I get it. I told Babbling that we were going to have some trouble with the assignment. She wants us to meet with us if you're free."

* * *

"Mischief managed."

Blaise Zabini had been unseen by he, Hermione, Harry, and Gin going on almost four days now. And even though Daphne saw him in classes on the fourth day by default, she still hadn't been able to speak to him—unless him keeping his eyes glued to Flitwick in Advanced Charms now counted as the equivalent of a conversation. That didn't mean that they hadn't been trying to talk some sense into him, but he had been avoiding and/or not speaking to any of them. For ___three. Straight. Days._

And he, for one, was ___bloody fucking _tired of the bullshit. So after three days of Harry and Gin alternating between looking after Hermione and convincing her that everything would be alright, and enduring Daphne pacing the floor and tirades wherever and whenever they met, save for their latest run-in, he skipped his last class—because how much more could they review with N.E.W.T.s being next week?—and went off to either think about...stuff...or find the quarter-Veela who supposedly loved his best friend but had been avoiding her for four straight days. Whichever one was supposed to happen first.

At least the asshole had the decency not to act surprised when Ron reached the library table he was sitting at and slammed his palm on the table. "What, the ___fuck _is wrong with you?!"

He had said it to make a point, but he had to hold his tongue from repeating the question with the slightest glimmer of concern. Daphne hadn't mentioned him looking this terrible. There were dark bags under his eyes...Zabini could never be described as being pasty, but he was definitely...pale. Disheveled. And peeking out from underneath his shirt cuffs, were bandages.

Ron dropped his bookbag down with a thud, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He could ignore the accusatory, if not heated, look he was getting. Blaise Zabini was no Draco Malfoy when it came to authentic Slytherin loathing, at least, not this time around; he lacked the inability to look neither guilty nor repentant. "Okay, Zabini. Why haven't Hermione or Daphne seen you? Why did you leave Hermione alone like that?"

___If he hadn't been instructed to focus on Antoinette's face, he would have objected to having to hear the conversation between Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress being made over his head. He would have told them that after seven months, he knew the difference between Hermione and the picture of the woman used to keep an eye on the activities within the Heads Quarters. He would have said that while he appreciated the fact they had all appeared in his room out of concern, right now he didn't like any of them and wanted to be alone._

___But he hadn't been questioned about the appearance of his body or been asked with questions—yet. The least he could do was to pretend not be bothered at being treated as an experiment._

___And maybe there was something to having Antoinette here...he had stopped thinking all those thoughts. And he was distracted from those thoughts. Thoughts of Higgs, the look Higgs gave him as he left the Heads Quarters angry and upset, his attempt at trying to take Hermione, his mate, away from—_

___He was distracted again by the sight of Antoinette opening her mouth to speak. He had missed parts of their conversation. "...It _was___a process used in the past when Veela blood was put in love potions...While I'm not sure if a molting salve for chicken feathers will guarantee quick results, it is better than any other alternative I can think of...like plucking."_

___He glowered at the suggestion. "No...plucking..." His throat felt scratchy. "No plucking..." He had no idea what they wanted him to do or were thinking of, but it was making him feel snappish. He wouldn't be treated like an animal...Or, any__more____ l____ike an animal..._

"...What did she tell you?" Bliase asked hoarsely.

"I'm not answering any of your questions until you answer mine. Why did you leave Hermione alone that night?...And why do you look like you've just finished fighting a dementor?"

"...I can't tell you."

Ron sent a roving eye around the library and wiped the corners of his mouth roughly for self-control. He was trying so hard not act on his first instinct to punch him in his face. What had made him think of even being accepting towards Zabini and this whole Veela thing in the first place?

Oh. Yeah—Daphne.

Zabini stiffened and grimaced, clamped a hand around his wrist. He paused for a moment, taking deep breaths. "Just tell me how is she."

"...I guess her lip is healing pretty good." He almost regretted saying it—almost.

Zabini looked pained. "...I didn't mean to do that." Blaise said, falling back into his chair. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"...She knows that. We all know that."

___"...You know he didn't mean to do that, right? Blaise isn't the kind of guy to go around...__biting ____people." Daphne said. Her brow was furrowed, still disbelieving everything she was hearing._

___Hermione nodded, sucking on her lip where said bruise was. It had swelled to the size of an olive overnight._

___Ginny unsuccessfully tried to get the seventh-year Gryffindor to rest her head on her shoulder. "Okay, so you know that. That's good...And then what happened?" She asked softly._

___Hermione hugged the pillow they had found her clinging to tighter. "I ran after him...but he had closed off his room. So I started banging on the door and yelling his name. But, he never came outside."_

___"Silencing Spell." Harry offered quietly. "...How long were you out there doing that?"_

___She shrugged offhandedly. "This long." She loosened her grip to show the bandages that had been wrapped around her last two fingers, ran along the underside of her hands and then again around her wrist. "Madam Pomfrey said I had only bruised them though."_

___"Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall showed up?" He asked, not liking the picture she was painting._

___Hermione nodded again. "Our picture, um, Antoinette. Antoinette or...the other people in it tell Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall whenever something's wrong with Blaise."_

___Daphne took on a confused, if not frustrated look. "Well, what __is ____wrong with Blaise?" Daphne said._

___Hermione looked up at her, thunderstruck for a few moments, realizing the severity of circumstances in the school nurse and the headmistress' appearances. "...I don't know." Hermione's voice cracked. "...I don't know." She started rubbing her face on the pillow and sniffling. Tears._

___Ron gave the Slytherin a very pissed, reprimanding look._

___She hesitated before turning back to the Gryffindor seventh-year. "Okay." Daphne's voice softened and she knelt down to Hermione. "Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that. I'm sorry..." She patted the Head Girl's head awkwardly, stopping as the last tears were wiped away for the moment. "...What, what happened next? After Headmistress and Pomfrey arrived?"_

___"They put me to bed because I wouldn't stop...crying. I tried asking them if something was wrong, but they didn't know. They only started talking about giving me stuff." She pointed to a vial on her nightstand. "I'm supposed to put that on my hands and maybe my lip when I wake up." Ginny was already standing up and moving around. "And then...Headmistress...said she'd write a note excusing me from class today. And they gave me a sleeping potion in case I couldn't sleep tonight..._

___"...I've really slept half the day?"_

___"Yeah. It took us a while to wake you up." Daphne prompted for the vial from Ginny's hand and ripped off the bandages as gently as she could and started rubbing in the salve a little. The smell of parsley filled the heated air of the bedroom. There was a small exchange between the two of them, Hermione hissing slightly in pain and the petite Slytherin apologizing. "Okay...sorry...There." She smiled._

___The way Hermione relaxed was so visible, Ron could have sworn they all knew the moment it started working. "Thank you."_

___"You're welcome...Hermione, we'll all try to figure out what's going on with Blaise. We'll help you, but..." she looked up over at him again, choosing her words carefully, "I guess what I had been trying to ask earlier was...did something happen? Between you and Blaise?"_

___"...Yeah. Higgs and I were going to start our Ancient Runes assignment and it was really late and the library was closed so he had to come here. Blaise went off to do patrols by himself, but asked me to stay up until he came because he had something to ask me. And Higgs and I were working when he said that he liked me..."_

Ron watched the Italian stand and gather his books. "Listen, I can understand if you're mad at me for going to Higgs, but him having a crush on Hermione isn't her fault..."

"I know."

"Do you? Because she's really torn up about trying to figure out whatever it is you're thinking. You and I both know she doesn't like Higgs; the thought's never crossed her mind." He sighed, scratching the back of his neck again... "The truth of it is, on how's she's doing, is that she's acting really stubborn." He knew Zabini wouldn't understand even before he had given the confused look on his face, so he kept going. "Hermione is strong willed and...___stubborn _automatically; it's not an act."

Blaise nodded. He was aware of that fact. Hell, maybe he'd even witnessed it in action once or twice.

"So when she ___acts _stubborn, it's because she's upset and is trying to hold everything in. And even, even though you can___tell _she's angry because she slams stuff around and works to ignore you, she'll make sure her face doesn't show how she's feeling. She only does it when something really upsets her and aside from Divination and Malfoy and...me, I've only seen her upset about...emotional things. And people..."

Blaise turned to leave, but the redhead wasn't finished. He stood too and grabbed the Head Boy's shoulder to turn him back around. "Hermione's feelings aren't...fickle. If she said she loved you, then she loves you."

The gesture of raking his hair with hands seemed more of a desperate attempt to look calm than anything. "I know. I do. Part of me isn't mad at her, but the part of me is...The part of me that's mad, it's more mental than anything. I just don't want her to know how bad it is..."

___He peeked up at the women towering over him, not caring to rise from the floor. "...When can I see her?"_

___"Mr. Zabini...I do not believe it safe for you to make contact with Miss Granger. Your appearance is induced when a Veela begins to lose their mental faculties. And from the sight of your skin and nails...I cannot risk whatever thoughts you had to reappear should you see her this soon."_

___That was enough to bring him to his feet. Mcgonagall was tall, but even she seemed like she could become vulnerable with the way he was feeling. He was towering over her, he knew he was. The very __thought ____that he could harm Hermione, that he could even lift a __finger____ a____gainst her; he'd bring harm to himself before he ever even—_

___He seemed to pull himself out of his thoughts and brought himself to sit on the edge of his bed. The pain, the prickling one along his arms, was back again. He didn't dare look down at whatever was going on with his hands or arms or body, just focused his glance on Antoinette and the look of lightly concealed pity on her face once more._

___"...Headmistress, while I can agree that you should be cautious in not upsetting Hermione, to keep her barred ____from seeing Blaise for a long period may cause her to worry..." Antoinette offered. "I think tonight is indicative of that; after all, the connection between Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger is very strong...in spite of appearances."_

___"...Indeed you're right, Madame...Mr. Zabini...Let us wait for a few days for your thoug...the more developed feathers to fall off. You will be confined to your room until then, the only exception being when you are alone in the quarters. The only thing I ask is that you do not attempt contact with Miss Granger until your appearance improves. Again, I'll provide you with a pardoned excuse from your classes..."_

___As if week-long reviews for the N.E.W.T.s were the most important thing on his mind right now._

___"Upon my return, Poppy, please go and check on Miss Granger."_

___He didn't understand why she felt the need to whisper. "...Don't tell her anything. I'll explain it to her...myself."_

"What does that mean?" Ron asked.

"Nothing. Forget I said it." But again, his hand clenched his wrist. He seemed like he had to will himself to let go and grab his books. "Don't tell her that you saw me...I'll talk to her."

That was exactly what he had been hoping to hear. Ron pulled his glance from Blaise's hand and looked into his haggard face. "When."

"Soon. Tonight." He left.

Ron's hand was already on the tattered piece of paper. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." His brown eyes watched ******"Blaise Zabini" **walk out of the library and head towards the Heads Quarters where ******"Hermione Granger" **was sitting in the square designated for her room. He watched with rapt attention as Zabini's dot crossed into the room and headed down a the hallway and slipped into the box that supposed to be his room. It didn't come with any surprise to see Hermione's mark head towards his room and stand there for five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirteen. And then walk away from the door and head outside of their shared quarters.

He folded the paper before he shouted something that made Madam Pince kick him out of the library. He could only hope that night fell quickly.

* * *

"I can't come tonight. I have something to do. I'll do my part, owl me yours and I'll look at it and then turn it in after next week."

* * *

******"HOGSMEADE STATION: EMERGENCY RADIO BROADCAST**

******"HOGWARTS CASTLE, SCOTLAND: HEADMISTRESS MINERVA MCGONAGALL IS REPORTING THE APPEARANCE OF A DARK MARK LOCATED ABOVE WHAT IS CALLED "THE FORBIDDEN FOREST" NEAR HOGWARTS CASTLE. THE MARK HAS BEEN FOLLOWED WITH THE APPEARNCE OF ISOLATED FIRES AND ATTACKS ON VARIOUS PARTS OF THE SCHOOL GROUNDS. SO FAR, THERE ARE NO REPORTS ABOUT WHO IS LEADING THE ATTACK AND NO CASUALITIES HAVE BEEN REPORTED. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A DRILL.**

******"PLEASE STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. END.**

******"7:30 P.M. 20 FEB"**

* * *

******"HOGSMEADE STATION: EMERGENCY RADIO BROADCAST**

******"HOGWARTS CASTLE, SCOTLAND: IT IS BELIEVED THAT HOGWARTS HAS PLACED DEFENSIVE SPELLS AROUND THE PERIMETER OF THE CASTLE AS A FIRST LINE OF DEFENSE AGAINST ATTACKS. COMMUNICATION VIA OWL POINT TO ASSUMPTIONS BY HEADMISTRESS MINERVA MCGONAGALL THAT THE ATTACK IS BEING LED BY WHAT ARE BELIEVED TO BE DEATH EATERS. THE HEADMISTRESS IS REPORTING THE CONSTRUCTION OF SEVERAL MORE BARRIERS TO PROTECT THE SCHOOL AND ITS STUDENTS. AS YET, THERE IS NO WORD ON CASUALITIES FROM EITHER SIDE.**

******"PLEASE STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. END.**

******"8:33 P.M. 20 FEB"**

* * *

******"HOGSMEADE STATION: EMERGENCY RADIO BROADCAST**

******"HOGWARTS CASTLE, SCOTLAND: ATTACKERS ON HOGWARTS CASTLE APPEAR TO BE TRYING TO BREAK DOWN THE FIRST LAYER OF DEFENSE ON THE SCHOOL. IT IS BELIEVED COUNTER SPELLS ARE OCCURRING AT THE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL GATE AS WELL AS VIA AIRBOURNE ATTACKS WITH BROOMS. THE ESTIMATED TIME BEFORE COMPLETE DETERIORATION IS UNKNOWN. IT IS UNCLEAR IF THE DEFENSE IS BEING REINFORCED WITHIN THE SCHOOL. AS YET, THERE IS STILL NO WORD ON CASUALITIES.**

******"PLEASE STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. END.**

******"9:02 P.M. 20 FEB"**

* * *

******"HOGSMEADE STATION: EMERGENCY RADIO BROADCAST**

******"HOGWARTS CASTLE, SCOTLAND: THE DEATH EATERS HAVE BROKEN AWAY THE FIRST DEFENSIVE LAYER AROUND HOGWARTS CASTLE. IT IS BELIEVED THAT THE OTHER LAYERS WILL SOON FOLLOW. COMMUNICATION BETWEEN AND THE SCHOOL AND OUR STATION VIA OWL IS STILL ONGOING, BUT AT THIS TIME, STAGNANT.**

******"PLEASE STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. END.**

******"9:07 P.M. 20 FEB"**


	16. Chapter 16

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

–

___Translation(s)/Terminology:_

1) Arcomantulas: a species of gigantic spider, believed to be Wizard-bred; the most commonly-known are Aragog's family that resided deep in the Forbidden Forest

2) _"____Anguis" _(Latin; self-created spell): "snake"; like how Hermione conjured birds using ___Avis_, this spell conjures snakes

3) Cruciatus Curse: Unforgivable Spell; tortures the opponent with unimaginable pain; uttered using ___Crucio_

_4) ____Crucio_: see "Cruciatus Curse"

5) _"____Descendo" _(Latin; self-created spell): Causes objects to fall at the direction of the caster.

_6) ____Finite_: Stops any current spells

___7) Expiliarmus_: Disarms an opponent in a duel

8) _"____Ignis exsisto" _(Latin; self-created spell): incantation to create fire

_9)____ Imperio_: incantation for the Imperius Curse; causes victim to perform the unquestioned bidding of the caster; Unforgivable

_10) ____Locomotor Wibbly_: incantation for Jelly-Legs Jinx

_11) ____Lumos_: incantation for conjuring a light from the tip of your wand

_12)____ Oppungo_: "to attack; assault"; causes conjured creatures under the control of the caster to attack the target

_13) ____Petrificus Totalus_: incantation for Full Body-Bind/Body-Bind Curse

_14) ____Stupefy_: incantation for Stunning Spell

___(Sources: HP-Lexicon; Harry Potter Wikia; Google Translate; Pojo's "Harry Potter Spell List")_

–

"Gold and silver line my heart  
But burned into my brain are these stolen images,  
Stolen images, baby, stolen images.  
Can you picture it,  
Babe, the life we could've lived?"

"Without You"—Lana Del Rey, ___Born To Die_

–

"ATTENTION STUDENTS, ATTENTION! ALL FIRST THROUGH THIRD-YEARS ARE TO REPORT TO THE GREAT HALL! ALL FOURTH THROUGH SEVEN-YEARS ARE TO ESCORT ANY UNDERCLASSMEN TO THE GREAT HALL. REPEAT: ALL FIRST THROUGH..."

–

"ATTENTION STUDENTS, THE PASSWORDS AND WARDS FOR HUFFLEPUFF, RAVENCLAW, AND GRYFFINDOR HAVE BEEN TEMPORARILY CANCELLED. YOU WILL HAVE TEN MINUTES TO FIND A HOUSE TO SHELTER YOURSELVES IN. IF AFTER TEN MINUTES..."

–

Daphne felt like she was staring into a sea of Hufflepuff underclassmen faces. But that wasn't true; it couldn't have been only Hufflepuffs that had ran into the dormitory when the announcement had rung out. And above the sound of them all gasping and swallowing buckets of nervous air, there was the sound of curses and hexes, the stairways constantly shifting and turning, and the paintings that lined the school walls screaming announcements from the headmistress or...wherever. And just...screaming. "How many...how many of you are third years or, or less?"

It was like half of them had raised their hands. Half of them had to be escorted to the Great Hall somehow and she had no idea how she and the few other upperclassmen were supposed to do that. Merlin only knew if every other Death Eater on the outside of the school walls had found their way in.

She yanked off her right heel and tried to break it. Tried to clear her mind. ___Think! Fuck, fuck, think! _Keeping an attacker back wouldn't be impossible; she was good at curses and hexes—at least that's what she had told Weasley today; that's what her Charms papers had always reflected. And it wasn't ___only _that with every ten minute period, the wards came down and more students ran inside the Hufflepuff Tower for shelter, which made getting all of them to the Great Hall almost impossible. It was more personal in her eyes: the fact that she had put on heels that day, like always, but one was broken and the other one...wouldn't...break. She'd barely gotten in here limping, but couldn't risk going barefoot, there was too much debris and too many fires from fallen torches for that. And she felt hot; her goddamn curls.

The disadvantages in the seventh-year's eyes were overwhelming; it was taking all she had to hold it together.

And she felt like she was going to puke if that group of girls in the back didn't stop crying.

She quit trying to break her other shoe. "Okay. Okay, okayokayokay—___shut up! _No one else is allowed to fucking cry. It's not helping! ...We're going to...head to the Great Hall in...in groups. Ten underclassmen; one or two...upperclassmen. Everybody has to have their wand ready." She listened to little conversations rise with her words, students voicing how scared they were and a few yelling out how they'd forgotten their wands in their dorms. The honey-brunette didn't have it in her to tell them to shut up again. "...I'll go first and you," she pointed to a particularly tall, bespectacled Ravenclaw fifth-year it looked like, one that smelled like he had pissed his pants, "we'll go first."

"Oh no! I'm not going out—"

"Fuck you, what do you mean you're not going out there? How long do you think we're gonna last in here?! We're ___all _going out there and reaching the Great Hall eventually. And you're going out there first with me." She pointed her wand at him. "I'm not afraid of cursing you. I'll do it. I'll put you under the Cruciatus Curse until you change your bloody mind."

She ignored the gasps that came from the more knowledgeable students.

He went cross-eyed staring at her wand before nodding his head slowly.

"That's what I thought...Everybody's that's crying in the back, get up here!" She watched as the individuals, girls mostly, made their way through the crowd, clutching their friends' hands and shaking. "Okay. Now, when the wards come off and the door opens, I'll step out first and you all will run out behind me—go to the left and round that corner...and so help me Merlin, don't you dare trip! You," she pointed to her partner, "you'll run out with the last of them and shout one good curse or hex—___anything _you think you know to back me up! And then, then, I'll be right behind you..." They nodded. "Okay. Every other upperclassmen," she said to the rest of the group, "figure out who's going next by yourselves." She walked into the tunnel leading to the school hallway and tried not to jump when she felt hands clenching the back of her shirt in fear.

"THE WARDS TO THE HUFFLEPUFF, GRYFFINDOR, AND RAVENCLAW HOUSES WILL COME DOWN IN ONE MINUTE!" They all jumped at the sound of one of the higher-perched paintings shouting above them.

She took a deep breath and held it. She wanted her brain to will all these girls to stop crying. They'd be fine. She wasn't going to die, especially not on anyone else's behalf and most especially not without the possibility of her being alive at the end, and if she was stuck having to help take care of them, they weren't either.

"TWENTY SECONDS! ...TEN SECONDS! ...ALL WARDS ARE BROKEN!"

"Okay!" She pushed open the door and pointed her wand to the ground. "___ANGUIS!_" Sounds of hissing filled her ears as the snakes she'd conjured filled the floor. She watched as chunks of the floor lifted and hurled themselves down the hall. There ___was _a figure there, no one that she could recognize. "___OPPUNGO!_" Her head turned towards the other students_, ____"RUN!_"

"___Stupefy!" _A man's voice yelled out from the other side of the hallway.

The Stunning Spell hit her and anyone else who had lagged behind like a ton of bricks; her own knees hit the ground too hard for her liking and it was a wonder her wand hadn't dropped right out of her hand. There were moans and more crying behind her...all around her. The upperclassman she had come out with wasn't anywhere she could see. The act of picking herself up was a slow one. "Get...get off the ground and keep running!" This time when she swiped her wand through the air, it was a series of abandoned paintings that came at her attacker. She pointed to a chandelier hanging overhead. "De...___Descendo._" The sound of creaking and whooshing filled her ears before she heard the fixture hit the floor with a resounding slam and the sound of glass bouncing and breaking filled the hall and flooded her hearing.

She was willing her mind to come back to clarity. Now was the time to move. Now was the time to make everyone else stand up and move...faster...

"___Locomotor Wibbly!"_

Her knees gave out again. She couldn't feel her legs at all. Bodies hit the floor. And more crying. Screaming. And hissing from all the snakes she'd conjured.

Suddenly, her wand flew out of her hand and landed...somewhere. ___Expiliarmus. _And then the hissing stopped. ___Finite. _The petite Slytherin could hear footsteps coming at them above all the other noises, the loudest of all being her heart pounding in her ears, and saw the figure coming at her...straight at her...___only _her...A robe and a mask...

"___Petrificus Totalus."_

This wasn't okay.

They weren't going to be okay.

The only thing she could assume was that he was saying something confidently and had every right to do so. He was coming at her. Whatever he was saying was directed to her...something...And then she caught a word...a ___name _really:

"Granger...?"

Harsh laughter filled her ears. A glob of spit landed in her hair and dribbled down. He was that close.

Her voice was screaming inside of her head, trying to will her mouth to open and yell that she wasn't who he thought she was, but the words weren't coming out...her tongue felt like a brick. And she couldn't even move her jaw.

Daphne imagined this was the time her life was supposed to be flashing before her eyes, but nothing was coming to mind.

...slowly, one by one and picking up speed as the figure neared her, she felt the tears coming, hot and wet down her face.

She wasn't going to be okay. She wasn't going to be okay. She wasn't going to be okay. She wasn't going to be—

–

It was only because his priority was finding Hermione that he didn't act on instinct and leave Higgs to his own devices. To lay a finger on him, to even use one nail—___talon..._why lie about what they looked like—to break his skin...___now _when the school was under attack? No. He didn't need the guilt or an incentive...or any more of an incentive.

He just needed Hermione.

He had been sitting in the Heads' Common Room when the castle was being attacked, waiting for her to come back to him, angry or however Weasley made it sound like she'd be, and drifting in and out of reality. It, the fog, had been bad. Really bad, thick and absent of images of his mate, for hours now. Ever since he had spoken to Weasley earlier. He was never aware of having to put in so much effort to pull himself out before, with nothing or no one to call out his name; he had no idea how long he had spent doing so, but she hadn't returned and it was after dinner.

It was the floor shaking underneath him that pulled him out of the fog and Antoinette yelling his name that kept him out...for the moment. Antoinette who had explained things to him and then urged him to leave the quarters.

_"____The Death Eaters are scaling parts of the school walls and the defensive barrier that the professors put in place are gone! Mr. Zabini, you must leave this room and join the other students in the Great Hall..."_

It was good that he had heeded her words, drunkenly running back to his room for something he thought he'd needed but finding his wand instead, because five minutes after the Slytherin had evacuated the quarters, worked his way around the fallen chandelier in the hallway, and ducked around the adjacent hallway to hide, he had heard a large slam thunder through the hall followed by the sounds of hooting, yelling, and talking. He only peeked around for a minute to look at what he was dealing with and got his answer at the sight of the door of Heads Quarters crumpled against the walls from when it had been blown off its hinges and a huddle of robes. There had been a fleeting sense of worry for Antoinette and her party before another ten minutes were spent in the fog, unwillingly. When he came back again, the Death Eaters were gone and he was staring into the face of Higgs—the bloodied face of Higgs and its source, the gash across his forehead.

He had come from outside and been walking down the hall en route to the quarters when the floor started shaking. Blacked out when he hit the floor, probably got the cut that way. Came to and heard the Death Eaters around him. Pretended to still be knocked out, but was probably only alive because he was wearing his cloak. He'd overheard the Death Eaters though. They didn't know where they were going, not really, but were looking for Potter.

That meant it was possible ___all _of them were looking for Potter. And if one of them found Potter, or worse—captured him, they'd find Hermione. Hermione was somewhere else in the castle still; she was probably moving, already fighting. No, she wouldn't be huddled somewhere. For a second, the thought of the summer before the year had started, when he was rushing to make his way to her, to stand beside her, to keep her safe—that feeling rushed over him. And she was safe and perfect...in his arms...

He was pulled to by the sensation of Higgs shaking him roughly again, cussing about him "blanking out" on him.

Blaise kicked him away, remembering him saying he had been walking to his room, presumably to Hermione. The Italian didn't say anything, but after a pause in watching the sandy-haired boy wipe his face again and again, he ripped off his shirt sleeve and handed it to him.

He needed to be beside her...He wasn't going to be hesitant in making his way beside her, not like how he'd been before this had all started.

He pretended not to notice the look in Higgs' eyes at the sight of his arm.

And Higgs...needed the infirmary.

He didn't need to look to see if his feathers were growing back; he could feel them along his arms and back now, downy black feathers growing in the same places where the others had molted.

Almost an hour of silence into their trek behind the school's intruders, keeping up what he hoped to be the distance the length of a quarter or so of a Quidditch field, ducking into alcoves that pocked the sides of the hallways and emptied classrooms full of overturned desks. There had been plenty of moments spent sitting in darkness and breathing heavily, listening to the sounds of moving bricks and yelling and screaming, wands at the ready. He imagined in those moments if this was what Hermione had experienced last summer...was experiencing right now.

"...You're a Veela."

His eyes looked Higgs' crouching beside him in the darkness. Sixty minutes spent with him and that was what he had chosen to say? Blaise wasn't obligated to keep up conversation, so he decided to ignore the statement.

"...She's your mate. Hermione. I remember her reading a bunch of books about them in the library awhile back. She was reading them because of you."

It seemed Higgs was full of epiphanies this evening. He didn't know anything about her reading up on Veelas, and decided not to acknowledge it. He stood and crept out the room, not caring if the other Slytherin was followed. They were close to what he was considering a shortcut: the inner court. It was dark in the moonless night, without lamplight, and fairly quiet, just the sounds of scratching and, and clicking above head...there weren't any hooded figures walking around.

The clicking sound seemed to want to bury itself in his ears, his heightened senses.

And then he understood why: spiders. The biggest types of spider he'd ever seen, the size of small dogs and others the size of him, and the barrels they stored his wine on the vineyard...bigger. Crawling over one another and up and across the roof of the school, their bodies hairy and even more grotesque in the light...lights, like fireworks because they were in a new moon, spouting out every which way and screams. Both were coming from far off. In the direction they were heading towards.

"They're...Arcomantulas," Higgs said in awe behind him.

His mind couldn't remember that far back into their Care of Magical Creatures lectures for details, but he recognized the name. "...The...___big _spiders?"

He nodded. "...They're...carnivorous."

He rushed back to the safety of the doorway they had entered through and watched as Higgs stood motionless and witnessed them in their trek, climbing back down the side of the school they had crawled up. "...Higgs, get back here! We'll have to find another way." Maybe go back inside. He hoped that the school hadn't changed the staircases to the Great Hall too much.

"...I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't? Walk over here."

"I ___can't_. I can't even turn to look at you."

Blaise ventured out again and neared the other Slytherin. It was true: Higgs was trying to move his muscles, clenching his teeth with the effort, but he remained rooted to the spot. And then it came to him, the realization of what was happening hitting washing over him like cold water:

They weren't alone in the courtyard.

"Stay calm."

If Higgs had had the ability to whirl around to face him, he might have. "What d'you mean, stay calm? The fuck is wrong with me?!"

Someone had cursed Higgs. But it wasn't the Body-Bind. Higgs wouldn't be able to talk to him if it had been.

_"____Lu____mos._" He tried to put his all into the spell, so that the whole space was better lit. He still couldn't see anything.

"Zabini, what the fuck is wrong with me?!"

_"____I____gnis...exsisto_," in the corner of his eye, he saw the sparks appear in the basins where the oil sat along the pillars...it was strong and he was grateful, but it'd take awhile for them to grow. He still had to learn what Higgs was under.

He lifted the illuminated tip of his wand and stared at Higgs' immobile body, towards his wand hand. There were ways of controlling a body remotely. "I'm under a curse, aren't I?! What is it? Is it the Death Eaters?" Higgs was still able to clench his muscles which was maybe a good thing, maybe not. "...Where are they? Do you see them? Zabini?...Zabini?...___Zabini?...Za_—" Higgs' voice cut off the moment, just as Blaise neared the light to his face. There was a dreamy look to them, like he was suddenly calm or not there...

And his arm lifted slowly, like it was moving through water.

It was much worse than the Body-Bind.

___Imperious_.

In a split second, Blaise's hand wrapped around Higgs' wand and snapped it off. Higgs seemed to come out of his stupor for a second, only to immediately start curling up upon himself and screaming.

___Cruciatus._

The sound of laughing from his left and his right filled his ears.

**–**

******"HOGSMEADE RADIO STATION: EMERGENCY BROADCAST**

******"HOGWARTS CASTLE, SCOTLAND: A SERIES OF CARRIAGES HAVE JUST LEFT THE HOGWARTS SCHOOL GROUNDS AND WE ARE ASKING ANY AVAILABLE INDIVIDUALS IN HOGSMEADE SQUARE TO BE READY TO RECIEVE THEM. IT HAS BEEN CONFIRMED THAT THE SUSPECTED ATTACKERS ARE DEATH EATERS. THEIR NUMBERS BETWEEN THE RANGE OF 50 AND 75. SOME STUDENTS ARE REPORTING INJURIES AND DEATHS WITHIN THE SCHOOL GROUNDS, THE MAJORITY OF WHICH LARGELY CONSISTING OF CLASSMATES. NO WORD HAS BEEN RECEIVED FROM THE MINISTRY OF THE ARRIVAL OF AURORS TO THE AREA.**

******"PLEASE STAND BY FOR FURTHER DETAILS. END.**

******"10:22 P.M. 20 FEB."**

–

"...Early morning...two at the earliest." Ron repeated, still out of breath from all the running they had been doing. He looked at the Great Grey Owl that had brought them the note from the "professor," its yellowed eyes like flashlights in the din of the classroom they had been ducking in. All of them were breathing through their noses, to quiet the sounds of them panting for air. The Room of Requirement was burned; there was no way a spider could have made it inside, but they still could have been followed...not Crabbe, at least not really...Goyle maybe...Flint, or whoever it was that looked like Flint. He looked at the strip of his robe he'd wrapped around his arm, to nurse the burn he'd gotten from their run-in... "Is it even possible for us to hold out that long?...And then...having them file in one at a time like that..."

He trailed off and Hermione was grateful that he hadn't said what she thought he was going to say. That even though they were doing all these things and had practically been all over the school, from Gryffindor House to the library to even outside once, they were so...helpless.

Harry's eyes carefully watched the activity on the Marauder's Map—all of the little dots moving and all the other masses of dots sitting in the square designated "the Great Hall". "...I have no clue...No..." A fine sheen of sweat glossed his soot-covered forehead. "But, our plan...the way we're trying to do it is only way I can see things working...in our favor."

She hated this whole thing. She didn't think...she hadn't thought that in the event of being in this situation again, facing and fighting the Death Eaters again, it would be easy to remember how to act. She had been fighting against evil since she was eleven, true, but after not having to think about fighting for a year, it was like getting remembering a learned practice...a type of second nature...making plans, plans for those plans, and plans for when ___those _plans fell apart. And they almost always fell apart. But maybe it was because they were so...seasoned...that things seemed less overwhelming, if not easier, this time. That she felt like, except for those times when her wand was pointed at a Death Eater mask, she was watching herself, or someone who looked, dressed, sounded and acted like her, from afar.

The foundation of the Gryffindor House Dormitory shaking when the school was first attacked wasn't something to fear after the first or second time—it was something to try to anticipate, bolt her feet down as best as she could or cling to something solid and sturdy as long as she needed to. And every other task she, Harry, and Ron did after refusing to stay holed up and "safe" in the Great Hall with their Potions professor-turned-sleeper-Auror-agent, as per McGonagall's orders, while Ginny and Neville and everyone else ran out to "the front lines" and faced the Death Eaters walking around looking for Harry or all three of them—saving the house-elves; helping make The Great Hall a make-shift infirmary for anyone that had been fighting and Owlery; destroying the Room of Requirement to keep it from being used as a base by the their old classmates whose names they'd read on the yellowed Marauder's Map—Crabbe, Goyle...Flint, it had ___had _to of been Flint, but how had he known about the room?—and almost being cooked alive in the process; pushing back the Acromantulas from destroying any more of the school than they had already in their escape from the forest.

...If she was sick, she'd might even think they were ___happy _about having something so dangerous to do, solving the insurmountable task of trying to figure out what would happen when the Aurors Apparated or however into Hogsmeade Square. Although, she couldn't lie: it did feel good having an escape from everything she had been feeling and holding in this past week. From feeling horrible, confused, and frustrated—frustrated because she could remember how powerless she'd felt beating his door with her bare hands and him not opening it once to face it and tell her what was wrong; frustrated by the fact neither the headmistress or Madam Pomfrey would tell her what was going on with Blaise; frustrated because it seemed like up until this evening, Higgs had been popping up everywhere, all the time, right where she could see him and not ignore him; frustrated because Blaise'd been spending days inside of his room and on the day he actually left it this morning, he had still been avoiding her; ___frustrated _because she had no idea what they were doing anymore...if, the past few days they had been fighting...the silent treatment...playing games—by beating down the few hooded figures they seemed to encounter felt good, like a release from the burden she'd placed on her own shoulders by simply not being honest with him the first time the thought of her being in love with him. ___Only him—no one else_.

"Okay...then that's the plan...Let's tell them. If they try to stop us, we'll be gone by then."

Harry nodded, grabbing his wand and conjuring a bottle of ink and a small quill. "We...have...a plan..."

Yeah, they had a plan. But instead of her knowing that Blaise was somewhere outside there and if she walked out there just one more time she would find him and he'd be safe fighting beside her, she'd be en route to The Shrieking Shack and then out in the open air, to survey the school from afar and to see firsthand if it could be used as a short safe haven when their calvary arrived.

She didn't think she could wait for so long...She just...she just wanted Blaise! Okay?! That's it—if she never was allowed to want or ask for anything ever again, she'd accept that fate...right ___after _she had Blaise. She didn't want to be apart from him, to put her want of him aside, to know that he was close by and even be willing to fight beside her, but she couldn't reach him or get to him...If she still had the ability to go back in time, she'd go back to last week. Before Higgs' confession...when they had woken up that morning after Valentine's Day Night...the night before, when they were closer than ever and she could have just ___told _him how she felt. She didn't like the way she'd been feeling all week. She wanted to reach their resolution. The only thing she hated more than feeling so...helpless was having to be so...___selfless_...

"Here."

She looked up to see that the owl was gone and the Marauder's Map was practically being shoved into her face and her best friends looking at her expectantly. "...What's this?"

"'Mione. You know what this is—"

"I ___know _what it is, but why are you giving it to me?"

"You need to go find Blaise. You're worried; we," Ron pointed between him and Harry, "know that. So, we've decided we're going to The Shrieking Shack, and you'll go look for him."

"But you guys, you'll be—"

"Fine. We can get to the Willow from here and we know our way from there. It's lucky that the moon's not out tonight. We've still got most of our robes intact; we'll be protected...But we know that it's better if you find him." Harry said.

"So, here." Ron shook it in front of her. "Take it."

Hermione was grateful, exceedingly so, but too speechless to say anything; she was lucky they knew her so well. They gave her the briefest yet closest of hugs and directions for her to leave after a little after them and to be careful, and then they left.

"...I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

******"Blaise Zabini"**, ******"Inner Courtyard"**

******"Terence Higgs"**, ******"Inner Courtyard"**

And three other names, none of whom she knew the faces of or recognized as being students, all in the courtyard. But it wasn't just that. Higgs' dot wasn't moving...while Blaise's and the others, they were moving but it seemed more like they were...surrounding...

Suddenly, everything that she was seeing on the paper clicked inside her head and she bolted out of the room.

Tears were filling and blurring her eyes, and her heart...she felt like it was beating harder and faster than ever before.

It hurt.

It was the most intense pain she had ever felt in her life.

And she was scared about how quickly her mind accepted that truth.

In spite of the bruises and scratches she had all over her arms and legs, it was the memory of the bite put on her neck long ago that affected her, that made her heart clench with worry over and over again. And it spurred her to keep going, ignoring the debris that she felt underfoot or her rational side that urged her to find at least one other person to bring with her, to help her.

She had to find him.

Somewhere far off, she heard screaming. At least to her ears it was screaming. And that pain she felt, it was stronger. Which was a good thing...for now. Her feet carried her down the stairs through the Great Hall and into the courtyard. "Lumos," she whispered and pointed the tip of her wand into the relative darkness.

And gasped at what she saw.

There he was sprawled on the ground, the patches of dirt making his uniform as dirty and worn as hers.

Terence.

And standing over him, the one that made her hurt like this.

"Blaise?!"

He ___was_...he was...

_–_

___Full circle. R&R_


	17. Chapter 17

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

–

_Translation(s)/Terminology:_

1)"_Adhaereo_" (Latin; self-created spell): meaning, "to cling together"; intended as a type of Binding Spell

2)_ "Avvolgere"_ (Italian): Wrap

3) "_Prodio limax_" (Latin; self-created spell): meaning, "to [bring forth] slugs"; incantation to induce the Slug-Vomitting Charm; while canon, the incantation was unspoken

4)_ "Mobilicorpus"_: spell to move an unconscious body

5) "Mordacitas" (Latin; self-created spell): meaning, "stinging"; incantation for the Stinging Hex, a "fairly low-powered hex that causes a stinging pain in the victim"

_(Sources: HP-Lexicon; Google Translate; 's "Harry Potter Spell List")_

–

"I will love you 'til the end of time  
I would wait a million years  
Promise you'll remember that you're mine  
Baby can you see through the tears  
Love you more..."

"Blue Jeans"—Lana Del Rey, _Born to Die_

_–_

******"DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL EDUCATION TO CONTINUE WITH YEAR-END TESTS AT HOGWARTS"**

******"WHITEHALL, LONDON—Two weeks after the attack on Hogwarts, the Department of Magical Education has released a statement stating its plans to continue conducting the Ordinary Wizarding Level (O.W.L.) and Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test (N.E.W.T.) exams as regularly planned. The O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are annual standard exams designed to test the magical aptitude of students learning about and improving their magical skills.**

******" 'While we grieve the loss of the students in the wake of the attack, and are aware of the bravery and magical strength shown by the individuals who defended the castle, we believe it is important to make sure we are still providing students an education of the highest quality,' said the department in a written statement."**

******"About 72% of witches and warlocks between the ages of 11 and 17 in Wizarding Britain attend classes at Hogwarts; 18% attend schools in other countries; and 10% are taught at home..."**

–

He was finished with school. Forever. If Blaise ever had to take another test like the Arithmancy N.E.W.T. he'd just left behind, it would be too soon.

He was just irritated. At having to do the N.E.W.T.s, and having to stay confined to the school in spite of Hogsmeade being free and open to students since there were enough Aurors walking around to keep even the slightest disturbance under control, and still having to check in with Madam Pomfrey everyday to watch his progress. Three weeks this had been going now (although, in fairness, having to spend an hour being prodded and ___tsk_-ed over was better than being told to stay in his room or in isolation without the possibility of eating anything more than a piece of bread when they had first tried to get him to molt)... Fuck, he was annoyed to still be dressed in this shirt; his skin itched with the feathers that still covered his shoulders and arms and kept getting snagged in his shirt and being pulled out in patches...

And...And angry and guilty and lonely. Lonely without Daphne, angry and guilty at knowing that maybe if he had done ___something_...he'd done what he had the first time she had ever been in trouble; it didn't seem right that he had had the inability to do the same this time around. Sending a bottle and a card in condolence to her parents didn't seem like enough. He could only imagine the pain they were going through was greater than his...At least he'd seen her before she had been claimed...

And yet, even with all of that, he was...happy. And he wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel bad for being happy, but he couldn't deny being...happy that he was here still. With Hermione...

He didn't think he'd be ever able to articulate what had happened that night, the tricks his mind had pulled on him. Being surrounded, being taunted. Being ___challenged_. The word, or words, the threats that he'd be stripped of his feathers and stuffed...the implications of him dying... being taken away from her...that had caused him to lose control. It wasn't exactly a fog that had greeted him that time, but like a seeping...blackness. An angry one that had felt so close. And her, the perfect image of her that had haunted him so many times...it had disappeared. He remembered the fear and desperation. Feeling those emotions fade with the surge or presence of something...primal in him. The rational side of him trying its best to guide him despite the chain he had to hold it at bay, to break their wands, to slash at those masks...to not give in too much, for her. And the pain that consumed him, that seemed to last for hours, that had overtaken every inch and made him hate his skin, his body...He'd never know if it had been that pain that kept him for going over and he didn't like thinking he should be ___grateful _for it...

Somehow, the blackness had receded into the fog and he welcomed it because it meant that he was alive.

And her voice calling out to him, apologizing of all things. He'd thought he'd been dreaming it, the sight of her above him, even the scratches and bits of dirt that marred her face and the smell of smoke on her clothes. He'd been scared of this image; like, it meant because his mind was gone and he was dead, the memories and the images of her were scarred and broken. But then there were her tears splashing on his face, waking him up and pulling out of his trance. And her arms around him. The feel of her fingers buried in the feathers he had tried so hard to hide from her. Blaise knew she'd been real before he had even grasped at her...He was everything she kept saying, he was okay...

Thoughts of the days after he had come back to their quarters, her going into her room to change and then knocking on his door to come inside and sleeping in his bed and waking up beside him every morning, her soft skin against his, the warmth of her body, the smell of her shampoo that had seeped into his pillows, improved his mood slightly. He had asked if she wanted to complete The Mark this morning before going to breakfast, and she had agreed. He was thinking of how to make things perfect, to make it seem less like something done out of desperation or something they shouldn't be doing because of...things...He'd need a day...a chance to cook her something...candles...

Blaise had barely the presence of mind as he gave a fleeting Antoinette the password and walked inside the common room. He was aware of her sitting in her favorite nook on the couch, dressed in a bathroom robe and smelling like the scents he liked. "...Bunosera."

Those brown eyes of hers looked up at him and she stopped biting her lip. "Bunosera," she'd gotten pretty good at imitating his Italian, although her accent was unquestionably English. "How was your exam?"

"Good, I guess. Yours?"

"The same, I suppose. I'm happy I don't have to worry about that anymore."

"I'm happy too." She stood and without any more preamble or warning, opened her robe to reveal the white panties and bra set she was wearing underneath.

He didn't say anything, just gaped at her.

A few seconds of him not speaking had her cheeks turning pink. "It's new...There's a, um, lingerie store on the other street...where that grocery store is in Hogsmeade."

"It's..." He swallowed, "very lovely..." If her plan in wearing this was to seduce him, to make him forget the turbulent feelings he'd been having...it was working. Very well.

"And Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion earlier so I'd be...safe." She neared him and placed his hands on her skin, the flat plane of her stomach, the curve of her hip. "Blaise, I want us to complete The Mark tonight."

"...I'd thought you'd want us to try to finish it tomorrow?" It was almost painful to turn his attention from the little strips of creme-colored lace that lined the curves of her bra cups. He looked at her shaking her head, her teeth doing that thing they did to her lip when she was nervous. "No?...I thought we'd make it special. After all we've been through...I could cook again, something worthy of the occasion." She freed his hands but he continued gliding them over her body, her skin pale, almost ivory, in contrast to his tanned hand. It was like he couldn't really pull himself away. "I could make it a surprise somehow." He murmured.

"No. No...It's ___because _of what we've been through that we should do it tonight. I want us to do it now that you're in control...and we're here...a-a-a-a-and I ___want _to and you're here..."

He pulled his hands away to stare at her, but found himself burying his hand in her thick curls. He knew what she meant. His lips pressed onto her forehead. "I won't cook tonight...but let me make my room look nice..."

She nodded.

"I'll be back soon."

He had never conjured and transfigured candles and roses, brushed his teeth, or washed his body so quickly in his whole, entire life. Between turning back the empty portrait frames for privacy and splashing his body with lotion and cologne, his heart was beating like a drum and his brain was trying to recollect all that he needed to remember. He all but fell out of his room and stumbled unto the threshold of the common room, shirtless and in a mix of emotions.

There she was, bringing forth a flame in the fireplace. And she was still as beautiful as he had left her, that robe of hers slipping off her shoulder and her hair and growing darker against her skin in the waning sunlight. The smile she gave him was tight, forced, almost nervous. "...What happens now?"

"...I try to make it like the first night you came..." He stood there, trying to will instinct to takeover and failing. "It's hard to explain, but I have to want you and you have to want me and we have to...open ourselves to one another."

"I remember. I felt it then."

He smiled. "Then, come closer." The smell of her lotion was faint, but it filled his nostrils regardless. He cupped her face in his hands, rubbing the curve of her cheek. "Stare into my eyes..."

She did. He could practically see himself in her chocolate-brown eyes. Her hands moved, her fingers loosening the belt to her bathrobe. The material slipped away from her body, landing with a soft sound on the floor.

He wasn't sure when she had learned to smile like that, that impish one, but he liked it. The patches of skin on his arms, the ones were his feathers had shed, were getting covered with goosebumps at her touch.

Merlin, he loved her. And Merlin...she loved him, too...He could tell in the way she looked at him.

His body felt warm and he was aware of his heartbeat...not exactly quickening, but changing...matching another's...___hers_. Never was he more aware of the blood in his body coursing its way through his veins and pooling below his waist.

His thumb traced her collarbone, passing over The Mark.

Her mouth parted to make that little sound she always did, and the pulse of the heart he was hearing, ___hers_, hitched for a second, but then began beating a bit faster. Her hands tightened their hold on his arms and he gripped her hips, to press them against his. It didn't compare to what he really wanted. He wanted her...he wanted her closer...he wanted to ___be _closer. If it were possible to sink into those brown eyes, he would. He'd stay in them forever...

And suddenly, he felt her...open up to him. Or, or did he open himself to her?... It was like a million thin strings were tying their ends around them and connecting them much more strongly than anything else they had done before that moment. "...Do you feel that?"

"Yeah," Her hands touched his forearms, over his feathers. "Your skin looks like it's glowing."

...His temperature ___was _running a bit hotter than it had been...

"You look really...beautiful, Blaise..."

He felt her lips pressing against his, her hands sliding down his body, the pace quickening more and more. She wanted to kiss him more, to be greedy in the way she responded to the feel of his lips on hers, he knew it. Her tongue slipped inside of his mouth, and when she pulled away for air, her teeth tugged at his bottom lip. His lips and tongue made a path from her mouth, down her neck, and stopped at her chest. He felt like he was aware of every little bead of sweat forming on her skin. His hands were trying to figure out how, how he was going to get her...whatever she was wearing, ___off_. His hand gripped her thigh, hooked her leg around his hip and his fingertips slipped past the waistband of her bottoms, gliding over the dimples in the small of her back and gripping the soft globe of her—

Hermione moaned. "Blaise!" It was with reluctance that he let her pull herself away.

Of course he was hard. Maybe he was going to say something, but his thoughts cut off with a moan as he felt her hand slide up and down his length, the sensation with their connection being the best thing he had ever felt in his life, but limited due to the layers he was wearing. Damn clothing... He didn't say anything as she loosened his belt buckle and opened his zipper, the material of his slacks falling to the floor with one or two tugs of her hands. Those hands of hers went back to work, rubbing him through his boxer briefs and pulling them down until they finally joined the rest of the pile. His moaning came more frequently with the feel of her hand around him. He brought her leg back around him and placed his fingers between them, rubbing them against the fabric of her panties...She was already wet; he could feel it through the fabric.

The sound of her taking a sharp, quick intake of breath filled his ears. Her head rested on the crook of his neck and she grabbed his waist to keep herself steady.

He couldn't take...___standing _there anymore. His hands grabbed her bum to scoop her up, and he carried her back to his room, imagining himself practically breaking the door down when he kicked it open. The faint smell of roses greeted him as he carried her inside and kicked the door closed again. He laid her down at the foot of his bed, across his sheets. He had to hold back from his first instinct of practically ripping the bits of fabric she was wearing off her body; he didn't want her mad or disappointed when he finished. Still, he was not as gentle in sliding the panties down her hips and legs as he could have been.

"And you said that Madam Pomfrey..."

She nodded, straightening out her arms as he opened the clasp to her bra and slid the flimsy material down her shoulders. Her eyes watched as his fingers rolled and pinched her nipples, the little rosebuds getting hard at his ministrations.

He was in love with the look of her naked in the candlelight, the light of the orange flames dancing on her body; the way her hair fell and rested on her skin. He moved his hand away. "Mi leonessa...look at me." She did and he felt like he was sinking into those brown orbs once more. Hermione's hands pulled him close and kissed him, her hands keeping his face close and steady.

Her hand touched the center of his chest, listening and feeling the sound and pulse of their shared heartbeat.

His hand made its way down her body before his fingers reached between her legs and slipped inside her hot, slick core and explored her walls. He listened to the little sounds she made and watched as she squirmed, but when she squeezed around his finger, a part of him couldn't handle it anymore. He needed to be inside her. "___Avvo_—Wrap. Wrap your legs around me again." He scooped her up once more and crawled with her towards his headboard, fumbling around to move his blanket away and settle her unto his sheets. Her knelt before her and her legs rested on either side of his body. He leaned down and kissed a path down her body, giving attention to her nipples, her stomach, and swirled his tongue around her bellybutton before rearing up again. He positioned himself between her legs, rubbing himself against her slit a few times. "This is going to hurt."

She nodded.

"You have to keep your eyes open...to keep our connection. This part is important...Only until I'm in...all the way."

She swallowed and her body tensed for a second. "Okay."

He opened her a bit wider with his left hand and guided himself to her opening with his right. He watched as the head penetrated her and he sunk into her tightness. There was pain, her pain, snaking its way up his spine. Her hand was already clenching his wrist and tears were slithering out of her eyes as he moved his way inside. "Just relax..." He hesitated as he reached her barrier and then moved again...___slowly_... Another shock of pain ran its course through her body as he broke through. Her eyes squinted and her lip pursed into a line, but she never closed them. He paused, reaching down to brush those tears away. "It's okay, it's okay...Tell me when you're ready."

She took in a few deep breaths. "...I'm ready."

"You're sure?"

She nodded her head more furiously this time. "Uh-huh..."

He grabbed her hips and moved once more, a sound of pleasure escaping his own lips as he entered her fully...Being inside her was the best feeling he may have ever experienced in his life, she was so warm and wet. He slid out of her almost fully, before thrusting back inside, the feeling of the friction between them indescribable. A few more thrusts and her back arched and her eyes closed, those curls of hers like clouds that framed her face. He looked down at her, at them, and for one moment, with the sight of her and the appearance of his arms, he regretted that he had lost so many feathers. The two of them, a Veela or something close to it, and his mate had to be, he didn't know—___beautiful _to the eye.

His hips moved a few more times and he could hear the sound of their skin slapping and meeting, her whimpering growing louder, breathier, and his motion speeding up. "Blaise, faster..." she sighed and moaned and gasped, "—___Blaise!_" He liked the sound of his name on her lips, the flushed look of her cheeks, the sight of her breasts, her pink nipples, bouncing faster with every move he made. He liked looking down and watching himself going in and out of her. He was hyperaware of every grunt that escaped from his lips; he was aware of the sweat trickling down his back, and her own sweat pooling over her body. The feelings of pleasure, their own separate feelings of pleasure, were building up and blending inside him to the point that he felt like he knew when he was going to go over the edge. But not before her. And she was so close; her hands gripping him and fingers running up his back like he was her lifeline, her squeezing around him.

His thumb reached down between them and rubbed against her clit. He felt a tiny jolt of electricity run through her. Her fingernails pressed themselves into his back and she squeezed around him once more. So close...

And then, without entirely meaning to, but knowing he should, his other thumb brushed against the Mark.

The jolt bloomed and seemed to rise to the top of his head, a reflection of her body reaching the peak of pleasure and her core quivering around him. He cried out the residual ripples of her orgasm before she even gasped out that she was coming. Her whole body went rigid; her mouth parted slightly.

Feeling and seeing her like that made him lose his own sense of control. The feeling of his own orgasm ripped through him and suddenly, he felt as if the entire room had melted away. His mind was buzzing and he could hear the sound of her coming again, this time his own climax ripping through her. And he could feel all of her—all of what she was feeling in the afterglow, the smells of the roses and their sex and his cologne and heat that came from the candles, every single last one of them. And the bright ball of light that seemed to explode into a burst of color... He gripped her hips tightly and was barely aware of spilling his seed inside of her.

There was a wave of exhaustion that hit him after he pulled out of her and the feeling of that connection, those little strings were snapping away. He felt that happening and knew it may never happen again, or if it did, not as strongly as the first time. He freed himself from the slackened grip of her legs and fell beside her, pulling up his blankets and rubbing his hand over her body, finding his way towards that spot he had just left.

He didn't like the soft hiss of pain that came from her clenched teeth. "What's wrong?"

"My hips..."

He lifted the blanket and looked at her skin to see the indent of his fingers already bruising her skin. As if automatically, there was a dull throb of pain on his back. Her fingernails had dug into his skin much more deeply than he had felt.

He left his bed and walked over to where his infirmary-appointed salves were. Her first and then him. "It's going to sting for a moment." Blaise didn't like the little jerks of her body as he applied the cream but the moment of worry ended as her muscles relaxed. He could see the way she was fighting and losing against the need to sleep.

"I'm sorry." She murmured tiredly, watching him slapping the cream unto his own back and clenching his teeth at the stinging sensation.

"It's alright...I promise after you rest, we can make it up to each other," he put the container away, "as many times as we need to." He climbed back into bed and he stroked her hair until he too felt his eyelids getting heavy. "Tomorrow...the day after...forever..." He half-joked.

She giggled. "Forever sounds nice." The sound of her voice trailed off and the deep sound of her breathing filled his ears.

He smiled. "...Hermione, I love you."

"I love you, too."

_– _

___Personally, I think Hermione's rescue was kind of...badass? Maybe? Yeah? Eh... I don't get a lot of practice writing smut scenes from a guy's perspective. So, I hope that went well. R&R_


	18. Chapter 18

**Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers**

As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings

Rated M

disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own _Harry Potter_.

–

******Five Years Later**

–

Four-and-a-half hours ago, Blaise had Apparated at the threshold of Shell Cottage for the Potter-Weasley wedding rehearsal dinner. He hadn't cared that it was the day before Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter's special day and his mate was the maid-of-honor; he hadn't really wanted to go around and say hello to the rest of the bridal party, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, or Hermione's parents even though he loved them almost as much as he loved their daughter, or tell Weasley himself that the workers at the vineyard said hello and they were expecting him to quit being an Auror and return any day now; he didn't even want to tell Hermione that his mother sent her love (it would likely just lead to a conversation where he reassured her that she really didn't hate her as much as much as she acted); and he certainly didn't want to talk to her about the interview he had had at the Ministry that morning and was keeping a secret from her. He had just wanted her. He hadn't been happy with the short time away she had away from her duties and apprenticeship...

But fifteen minutes after he had arrived, she had finally made her way over to him, dragged him into Bill and Fleur Weasley's bathroom, and lifted up the train of the new, form-hugging, and backless black dress she was wearing and slipped off the new pair of black lace panties she had been wearing before handing them to him, giving him a knowing look before leaving the bathroom, and taking her spot in the rehearsal. And, with yet another thing adding weight in his pocket, he walked out as well and proceeded to have to watch her be kept out of reach for the next four hours and ten minutes.

He couldn't help counting down the hours...

Almost all the thoughts he had had since the last time he had seen her were unimportant. It had been six weeks since the last time they had been in bed together, and he was walking around, unable to get her alone again and having to hold conversations with people knowing that there was nothing she was wearing underneath her dress that, in his eyes, been put on to entice him with a peek of skin here and there. But maybe the sea of human beings was good; after all, it had kept him inches from placing her on the dining table and taking her right there. He knew Hermione had a number of books about sex tips and techniques, but if he ever found out that this idea of foreplay had come from one of them, he'd burn the lot of them. The length of time he had been away had felt like an eternity; neither he nor anyone else needed the opportunity to be so aware about his need for her.

They had Apparated back to her new and still largely unpacked apartment and his hands had immediately began running themselves down her back, and his lips were pressing themselves against her lips, jawline, and the skin of her neck where those dark curls weren't resting over the shoulder. He ___really _wanted to just take it off of her, but it was better to try not to be rough with a dress like his one—she wouldn't appreciate it and they didn't need a mood killer.

His hand moved towards the front and squeezed her breasts before finding the gaps and trying to work his hand underneath the material.

Hermione Granger, his mate and love of his life, as beautiful as the first time he ever truly laid eyes on her that night in Hogwarts, pulled away. Already her lips were starting to bruise and her eyes were darkening. "You're going to rip it that way."

He pulled her close and gripped her bum. Even if he could unzip her back, there was a fish-eye hook. And there was another hook keeping the material around her neck. Shit. "I won't, mi leonessa."

"Yes, you ___will_." She walked into her bedroom and began kicking off her shoes. Six weeks and she still had the slight tan from her last visit at the vineyard. He liked this look on her, the hair swept over her shoulder, the glow of her bare, tanned skin.

He followed after her, waiting for her to remove rejected outfits and jewelry on her bed. "Don't say it like you're cross. You clearly wore that dress to tease me."

She didn't answer to the contrary, just giggled. "I'm surprised you didn't pull me back into the bathroom." Her hands touched his face, enjoying the smooth touch from the contrasting roughness of the beard he'd been growing the last time they had seen each other.

"You left before I could. And then I had to keep a close watch on all the single men at the party."

She opened the clasp to her necklace and placed it on the bed, laughing. "Of which there weren't any. And if there had been any, they knew we were together. Everyone knows, Blaise."

"Except Weasley's brother. George? George."

"Blaise, he didn't come alone. Did you ___not _see the girl that came with him?"

"I don't care if he had brought a date—he got a dance out of you."

"Don't say it like you're cross...What happened to the cool, stoic Blaise I kept looking over at tonight?"

"Cheeky." His hand made a trail down her front and his lips began to follow, teasing her body underneath the fabric. He was practicing self control..."I won't take it off—yet." He kneeled in front of her, grabbing her bum and hip. "You're not allowed to take it off either."

He didn't have to see her to know that her eyebrow had raised in challenge. "I'm not ___allowed_?" Her voice had gotten a bit husky.

He rested fully on the floor and hooked his left thumb underneath the hem of her dress, lifting the material up her legs and thighs. His left hand maneuvered her right leg over his shoulder and his other hand touched her thigh and felt the goosebumps. Her words and actions were contradicting one another; she was excited and well aware of only good things that would rise out this moment. "No, you're not..." His hand held her leg to keep her steady and his lips pressed on her inner thigh and made a trail upward, already smelling her sex. He stopped right before her core and heard the tiny disappointed sound she made. "I'll take it off myself. Soon, but not now."

And he licked her.

She gasped and immediately buried her fingers in his hair.

His tongue probed inside. He was tasting peaches...and strawberries...maybe from the party. He began flicking his tongue and felt her quiver above him.

"Blaise!" She moaned.

He gripped her hips and continued doing what he was doing. Merlin, she tasted good. Even after five years, he could never get tired of her, any part of her. If she was beside him all the time...if he lived closer, if they weren't apart...he'd be able to taste her everyday. His body slid further on the floor as he felt her bend over and move her hips back and forth against him. She hadn't loosened her grip on him, but one hand was propping her against the bed. Perfect. He moved his tongue deeper and rubbed his thumb against her clit. Her voice, whimpering, moaning, and begging, was the only sound he could hear in the room, even with his head between her legs.

However, as good as it was, he needed to stop; they hadn't put a silencing spell on the room. He didn't want her to have any passive-aggressive notes on her door tomorrow. It wouldn't be good for her to get on her new neighbors' bad sides.

He stood and watched her crawl on all fours unto the edge of her bed. A bit of sweat had pooled across her back and neck, her hair sticking to her skin; her lips were parted in an 'O' to catch her breath. His hands moved over her skin and moved to the hook on her neck that barely put up a fight. Same went for her zipper. He liked the look of her breasts and nipples and hips, the curve of her ass, the sparkle of her earrings in the low lamplight.

She was perfect. He loved her this way and every way. Five years, both of them 23 for the moment, and no one knew her this way.

"Come closer." Her hand reached between her legs and rubbed against his erection through his pants. He moaned at the feeling of her fingers. "Pull them down..." She waited as he undressed and neared her again. "Nonono," she shook her head as he tried to pull the dress down her hips. "Just, just...look." She jutted her chin slightly towards the mirror and smirked at the sight of their bodies. "It'll be more fun this way, yeah? You ___liked _it in front the mirror last time we did it."

...Indeed he had.

"Minx." He pulled her closer and positioned himself against her opening. She was still wet in between those pink folds of hers. "...Did you?"

"This morning." He pressed against her and wanted to be deep inside her. And after a few more thrusts, he was.

The sound of their voices blended into harmony and the slapping of his pelvis against her backside became the percussion. He looked over at the two of them in her mirror and then back at the woman in his arms. Merlin, he didn't deserve her.

His hand wrapped around her front and he pulled her up until she was completely pressed against him and he was holding one of her breasts in hand and kissing the crook of her neck. His hand trailed its way up and down her body, over her thigh, the sound of their breathing overtaking the sound of her mattress springs creaking and her dress crinkling, pooled at her knees, the touch of her soft against him. He was practically inhaling the smell of her, making it his oxygen. The Mark he'd given her long ago still gave her chills up her spine and she moaned, shook, and squeezed around him at the contact. Her hand grabbed at his and led him over her clit once more and their fingers rubbed the small bump together.

He felt her tense around him.

"Blaise," she leaned forward again. "Ah, ___ah!_...I'm cummi—" Her declaration was cut off with her orgasm.

A few moments and a few more thrusts of his own, he followed, gripping her tightly and releasing all the pent up desire he had been saving. The next few moments was without talking, just the sound of them trying to catch their breath. He could have held her like that forever, but pulled out and immediately missed her and their closeness. He watched her as she crawled towards her headboard, the dress slipping down at her movements. He chuckled at the way she flopped down. "Are you already tired?"

She smiled and he knew it to be true. "A little...I had to prepare a lot for tonight. Otherwise...I'd want to be on top."

He chuckled. "Of course. We need to sleep if we want to have enough energy for tomorrow."

"The, my washcloths are in the cabinet."

He headed towards her bathroom. "Lie down. I'll be back soon."

___Soon..._

He thought about the other thing he had left in his pocket, the small velvet box.

___...Forever..._

___"So, let me ask this. When you complete The Mark with Granger, what happens next? Do you immediately get married?" Daphne handed the school owl she had brought down to the kitchens with her note and watched it fly out the window. The cold had only seeped in for a moment, but it was more like a reprieve from the steam and heat his cooking was generating. The honey-brunette pulled off her shawl and let it hang loosely around her waist._

___Blaise shook some more black pepper into the pot, careful that the bubbles from his pot of tomato sauce didn't land on his shirt again. He had no idea how much longer Hermione would be wrapped up in her studies. "...Not necessarily...my bond with Hermione is only dependent on us completing The Mark, but I've never heard of a Veela or part-Veela and their mate __not ____getting married immediately...or at all in the traditional sense." He lifted a small spoonful of sauce towards her. "Taste."_

___"...Perfect." She picked up her bowl and handed it towards him. She'd only rinsed it out, but of course she wouldn't mind the bits of chocolate chips and cookie dough still stuck inside. She never did. "Well, I think you might be the first couple to do so. I don't really see Gra—__Hermione____—as someone who's going to get married at eighteen."_

___Blaise hesitated in pouring the spoonful of culurgiones into her dish. "...I can barely even __think ____about marrying her. Not when I'm having to think about trying to win her over...I don't even know if __this ____will work."_

___"Blaise." Daphne slid off the kitchen counter and made her way towards the Italian, turning him to face her and gripping his arms to shake him slightly. "It'll be fine. This will all work out. She likes you already. Loving is the next step, but it's not that hard to reach, even for the brightest witch of her age. No girl would be dumb enough to get mad if someone made her dinner on Valentine's Day, especially if it's coming from you. And she'd have to be even stupider not to fall for you...why would she be agreeing and arranging for this and that if she didn't?"_

___"Stalling?"_

___She gave him a gentle smile."I don't think so. Just...don't think too far ahead; stay in this moment and when the time is right, you'll know when to bring it up. Who knows? Your plans to complete The Mark later may just come true a few months earlier than you expected." The smile she gave was impish. "For all you know, she might just surprise you. They always say watch out for the quiet ones."_

___"Hermione's not quiet, Daphne."_

___"How very correct you are, Blaise...Then let me say that they say watch out for the seemingly prudish ones."_

___He rolled his eyes and gave her her portion and a spoonful of sauce. "Bueno San Valentino, Daphne."_

___A smile brightened her face. "Thank you. You too..." Gingerly, she picked up a culurgioni with her fingers and chewed it._

–

Hermione was staring at Blaise kneeling on one knee and the most beautiful ring she had ever seen in her life. A ruby encircled by a cluster of diamonds and a gold band. She remembered seeing it once, on his mother's finger. She could never forget it, The Zabini Family ring, the ring his grandfather gave his Veela grandmother, the ring his half-Veela father gave his mother. And now, he, Blaise, the love of her life, the only person she could never be without and hated to be away from, was giving it to her. Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest.

She was trying her best to ignore the cheering and whooping coming from the rest of the bridal party: Ginny and Harry cheering like crazy; her tearful mother, Mrs. Weasley, and Fleur; and even Ron with Victorie in hand hooting and waving his arm, his wrist tattoo peeking out from under his dress shirt. Not to mention the rest of the Weasley family and all their friends and the other Aurors and...anyone else who just happened to be catching on...

For a minute, she thought about how much she had wished he'd told her he was going to do this in the middle of the reception, but then she thought about how stupid that would be. She would have ___hated _it if he hadn't surprised her. She bit at her bottom lip, the answer dancing on her tongue but unwilling to come out easily.

It was amazing what she could hear from across the beach.

"That is so cute!"

"C'mon, 'Mio-ne!" He could hear Ron. "Yeahhhh...whoo! Victorie, cheer for Auntie 'Mione!"

"Yes! Auntie Mione!" Teddy yelled, hopping up and down.

"That's perfect! Go Blaise!" Ginny cheered. "Good on ya! Hey! Hey...I told you he might do it today!"

"I don't understand." She had no clear idea about who ___that _was. "Why isn't she saying yes?!"

___Why _aren't___I saying yes?_

It was because she was worried about certain things. After five years, this is what they did sometimes: one worried and the other person assured the other that what they were worried about was solvable on its own and if it it was serious, they talked about it. There had been plenty of nights spent like that.

"Blaise, what about the vineyard?" She was thinking about Paulo, his head worker, and the other workers. And Merlin, his mother... "What about your mum?"

He smiled, his eyes lighting up, and she was glad he knew that she wasn't saying "No" because she could never say those words to him ever, but rather because he thought it funny she was thinking things through. "I still am in ownership of the estate, but I have promoted Manuelo to co-foreman. And while we didn't need it, Mama gives her blessing."

"Great. Maybe we'll get along better now that I'm finally becoming an honest, married woman in her eyes."

He laughed, but didn't reprimand her for her words. Now wasn't the time for their long and oft-spoken conversation about how Gabriella Zabini may or may not feel about her future daughter-in-law.

"And my apprenticeship?" She was referring to Stramford Jorkins, Esq. the man she had been training under to better her knowledge of magical law. "And The Bar? And what are you going to do? And where are you going to live? I just got my place and the landlord...And—"

His free hand grabbed hers to quiet her. "We don't have to think about everything all at once...We have a year to plan. Your apprenticeship will end and you'll pass the bar. We both know any law firm would be crazy not to have you, I still remember all those letters those owls kept sending us at home to find you...And as far as a job, I...met with a representative from the Department of Mysteries at the ministry for Arithmancy. Apparently, I'm still good enough that they want to hire me in the department...I can live close by to you."

"You didn't tell me about this."

"I wanted to surprise you...It worked judging from the look on your face."

"Hermione, just say yes! Don't ruin my day!" Ginny yelled.

"You're...you're sure all these changes are what you want? I don't want you to feel like you have to sacrifice anything, Blaise. I don't want you feel like you have to give everything up. I could move to Italy...finally learn Italian..." She was speaking from that place deep inside of her that sometimes still felt like even with all of her deep, unconditional feelings and the fact that she couldn't be happy if she ever lost him, her love for him didn't compare with his love for her. Which was silly, she knew, because she knew so much about him—his favorite and least favorite foods, his secret spot on the vineyard, the stories behind every scar he'd ever gotten on his body and the punishments he'd had to endure for misbehaving, the things he knew, the things he didn't know, how he liked his coffee, how he liked his toast, his humor, what he liked about her, the things she did that could annoy him, other things that could make him angry, his nightmares and dreams, what type of lingerie he liked on her, his favorite position, his list of fantasies...And she loved every inch of him, every thought he could ever have.

"Five years is a long time for us to be apart, even briefly. And I've never been okay with what I suggested. I don't want to see you sometimes, when you're less busy, or when I'm less busy. And you know I hate it when you have to leave me or if I have to leave you. Paulo says I get pretty short the days after and I'm sure Jorkins notices when you're not happy." He shifted a little to alleviate the pressure off his knee. "...Five years of this back and forth, I feel like I keep blinking and the time I could be spending with you keeps passing me by. I don't want to feel like like that, and I don't want you to start feeling that way either. I want it to feel like we're in the middle of one long, perfect day together."

"One very strange, long day, that keeps going from dark to light?" She joked.

He smiled. "Exactly. Where we get married and enjoy being husband and wife. And then have kids and then grandkids and then great-grandkids..." He stared up at her and for the first time in a not so long time, she felt like she was sinking into those blue eyes of his. He shook his head. "...I'd pay much more than a Knut for your thoughts."

"...I'm thinking about how much I love you. And how good the thought of kids and grandkids and great-grandkids is..."

He grabbed her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. It was...perfect...she already loved the way it sparkled. "So...your answer now is..."

"...It's yes." She glanced at him slyly. "Of course it's yes."

"I know." He held her close and kissed her, and she felt like there were a million fireworks and stars going off in her head. "...But, you really had them worried."

She suddenly realized that the fireworks she had thought she had been seeing inside her head were real and everyone was cheering and running at them.

"...Blaise, I love you."

"Hermione, I love you. And I always will."

_–_

___So, everyone. The epilogue of _Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers.___There's not much I want to say except I wanted to be subtle about the time change. I wanted to show Hermione and Blaise's relationship progressing to the point that they were really comfortable with one another. And I wanted to kind of line things up with the epilogue of the actual story—like Harry and Ginny getting married and Harry and Ron being Aurors. Overall, a nice end to the story._

___I would just like to say thanks for reading this fanfic. Honestly, it was really fun to write. I had had the idea of writing a HermionexBlaise fanfic for awhile now and, again, I had been inspired by another fanfiction to make Blaise a Veela, and it just seemed to take a life of its own from there. The substory about life after the war, the almost relationship between Ron and Daphne, the drama, the article excerpts...the sex scenes. It all went so well and you all received it so well: 35K views; 100+ reviews and favorites, almost 200 followers. And it made it into a community—thanks to whoever did that! So awesome. And a big thank you to BrightestWitchOfHerAge16, xXMizz Alec VolturiXx, sjrodgers108, Calimocho, and a lot of other people who were following and reading this. You guys were awesome._

___~the-lionness_


End file.
